


Queen Anne's Legacy

by VioletRoseLily



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death in Childbirth, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Lost Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 18:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16497524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletRoseLily/pseuds/VioletRoseLily
Summary: In 1535, Anne Boleyn manages to give birth to her desired son but at the cost of her life. However in death, she is victorious and her legacy lives on in her daughter and son.





	1. Victory in Death

_**April 9 1535** _

After the birth of their daughter, perhaps even before that if rumors could be trusted, Henry had been pulling away from Anne. Their once loving relationship had become strained and fractured as the King grew more and more impatient for a son. He once had waited seven years to have her and now he could not wait for a few months as she lay pregnant.

It had been Eleanor Luke while she was pregnant with Elizabeth and for sometime afterwards. For her second pregnancy, it was Katherine Basset (the irony was not lost on her that her husband was cheating on her with someone named Katherine) after a brief affair with her cousin Madge Shelton.

And it wasn't just the mistresses who threatened her marriage. Once Henry loved to hear her opinions and they would debate for hours on many topics. Once he had given her leave to speak openly and honestly for that was the definition of true love. Now he felt that she spoke too brazenly and that he would prefer that she remained silent.

Sometimes Anne was convinced that he hated her but she knew that it mattered not. Her only hope of winning back her husband's love, not to mention keeping herself and her daughter safe was to give birth to a healthy son.

Her boy was supposed to be born in late May and yet her water broke during a rainy day in April. Anne was afraid that it was too soon that if it was a son, he would either be born dead or wouldn't survive long.

The last time she had miscarried, Henry had been angry and her enemies had been hopeful that he would discard her and return to his forsaken wife and daughter. God only knew how Henry would react if she lost this baby after carrying it for nearly nine months. The only thing she was sure of was that he wouldn't annul their marriage as long as Queen Katherine lived.

However that did not guarantee that she or Elizabeth would be safe from losing favor. A second healthy daughter might buy her some time but even that was not a guarantee and it would only serve to push Henry further away from her.

Was it her imagination or was the pain even worse than it had been when she was in labor the first time? Even her miscarriage had hurt less.

"Fetch Dr. Butts!" Mistress Jones commanded, trying and failing to keep the fear off her face.

Something was wrong.

* * *

"According to Mistress Jones, the baby seems to be stuck in her womb. It is my opinion that we must do an emergency c-section," Dr. Butts informed him, looking rather apprehensive.

"Will the baby live through the procedure?" King Henry demanded, fear chilling his veins. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw outrage on George's face, clearly believing that he should have asked after Anne's health as well.

"He might. But we must act quickly or we might lose them both," Dr. Butts replied.

"Do what you must to save my queen and my son," Henry commanded before the doctor ran to Anne's side. He closed his eyes when he heard another bloodcurdling scream coming from inside the birth chambers.

Hour after hour passed as the physicians worked to help Anne through her labor. Henry forced himself to stay in the chamber instead of either rushing to his wife's side or fleeing to his own apartment.

Finally, Jane Boleyn stepped out of the chambers, her eyes rimmed with tears as she struggled to smile.

"Her Majesty has given birth to a boy," she announced, looking as though the birth of the long-waited Prince of Wales was the worst thing that could have happened.

"What of Anne? How is she?" George demanded, his hands clutched tightly around the goblet that he had refilled so many times in the past five hours.

King Henry's heart hammered against his chest as he realized the harsh new reality that was happening. The joy of knowing that he finally had a healthy son was overpowered by dread as fresh tears dripped down Lady Rochford's face. Surely God would not reward him and then punish him by taking his wife.

"She has lost a lot of blood. The physicians are trying to save her but they fear that it might already be too late," Jane answered once she had composed herself.

No. This could not be happening. He could not lose Anne after she had done all she had promised. With a son, all of Europe had to realize that Anne was his true wife and that the children he had with her were legitimate. Now all those who wrongfully supported his brother's widow would have to concede defeat. Perhaps even Katherine and Mary would see the truth of the matter.

Anne should be here to witness their victory. After all that they had been through, she should live to watch their children grow into a fine princess and a fine prince. After all, the disappointments, the cruelties and humiliations she suffered, Anne deserved to see her victory.

Now that he was fearing that she would die, Henry could see just how unfair he had been to her. She was not to blame for King Francis' duplicity, the Emperor's disdain, the Pope's cowardice, the stubbornness of Katherine or blindness of More and Fisher. And their daughter, Elizabeth, was not a failure but proof that she could birth a healthy child. He had been blind and unkind to her and now he might not have a chance to make it up to her.

"MURDERER!" George roared, causing Henry to nearly jump out of his skin. He whirled around and was relieved when he realized that his brother-in-law was not accusing him. Instead he was glaring at his father and uncle. "YOU DID THIS! YOU DANGLED HER IN FRONT OF THE KING TO FEED YOUR OWN AMBITION! FIRST YOU SACRIFICED MARY'S MAIDENHEAD AND NOW YOU HAVE SACRIFICED ANNE'S LIFE! I HOPE IT WAS WORTH IT FOR AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED YOU HAVE NO MORE CHILDREN TO USE!"

With that that, the Viscount of Rochford stormed out of the Queen's apartment with his wife following him. Although he didn't follow his son and instead just continued talking to the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Wiltshire still looked pretty shaken up by George's speech.

"Henry, are you all right?" Charles asked, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder, noting that the king looked as white as a sheet.

"I thought he was talking to me," Henry whispered. He knew that even if George thought he was to blame, his brother-in-law would never have dared to say so no matter how drunk he was. But even though the word murderer had not been meant for him, Henry could not help but wonder if he had somehow caused Anne's critical condition to happen. "Charles, I need you to ride with all haste to where Mary Boleyn resides and tell her that she needs to come to court immediately, that her sister needs her. Her husband and children can be sent for later but right now, she needs to be at court right away."

Whether Anne lived or died, she would want her sister to be here.

Charles nodded and immediately left the queen's apartments, calling for his horse to made ready for him as he rushed to put on his riding attire.

Henry barely heard Norfolk ask for permission to go and inform his family on what was happening and Wiltshire wishing to go the chapel and pray. He absentmindedly nodded, granting both men's requests, not tearing his eyes away from the doorway where the physician would soon appear with news.

Anne survived the sweat despite the odds against her. Dr. Linacre had declared her a living miracle. Surely, she could recover from this as well.

But as soon as he saw Dr. Butts' desolate expression when the royal physician reentered the room, Henry knew that there was no hope for his wife.

"She's asking for you," the man informed him gently, knowing that there were no words he could say that would cushion the bow for the red-haired monarch.

King Henry did not say a word before he made a beeline for Anne's bedchamber, sprinting past the sobbing ladies-in-waiting. When he arrived, Elizabeth Boleyn was clutching her daughter's hand in hers, whispering a prayer.

"Anne," Henry breathed, shocked at how frail and weak she looked.

"Henry, how is our son?" Anne inquired, wanting to know all about the baby she would never see grow up. She knew that she was to die but at least her blood would be well spent on a son who would one day be the King of England. "What does he look like?"

Her husband blinked. The news of his son had come along with the news that Anne was barely clinging to life between that and George's outburst, no one had given any thought to the Prince of Wales. To Henry's growing horror, he realized that no one had even bothered to send an order for the bells to rung.

"I have not seen him," he admitted, slightly embarrassed.

"Why not? What's wrong with him?" Anne demanded, hysteria in her voice, thinking that her baby was either deformed or was too weak to live.

Her mother stood up and let Henry take her place at Anne's side, clasping her hand and kissing it.

"Anne, please, you have to get better so we can see our boy together. I can never stop thanking you enough for what you've done for me," Henry told her, pressing her hand to his face so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.

To his shock, his wife scoffed. "Would you be saying so if I had given birth to a daughter?" she hissed. "Would you be so sad to see me go if I had given birth to another princess instead of a prince? Or would you be pleased that I was dead so you were free to marry again?"

"Sweetheart…" Henry trailed off, horrified by her angry words.

"I was such a fool to believe that you loved me. I fell in love with your letters, blinded to the truth that you would tire of me once I failed you. I was attracted to you like a moth to a flame. Your fire engulfed me, leaving my burnt as so many women were before," Anne continued, her dark eyes filled with tears. Katherine had been right that he would tire of her like all the others.

"No, sweetheart, please, I love you, I do. How can I make you see that?" Henry pleaded with her, tears falling down his cheeks and wetting his beard.

"Love your daughters as much as you will love our son," Anne implored him, cupping his cheek in her hands. "Kiss me goodbye, Henry. Even after all we've been through I still love you and I want one last kiss before I leave this world."

"Please don't go, Anne. Whatever you may think, I love you more than anyone I have ever loved or will love. You are the light in my dark world," Henry sobbed, kissing her lips as she had asked him to.

He continued to plead with her as she closed her eyes and took her last breath.

Queen Anne Boleyn was dead, leaving her two children orphans, her family devastated and her husband broken-hearted and guilty.

* * *

_**April 10 1535** _

Eustace Chapuys had waited until he could be sure that the harlot was really and truly dead before he raced to the More to share this good news. There had been no talk of the babe she had died giving birth to but Chapuys believed that the lack of news or merriment was because the King's newest bastard was either born deformed or dead.

Queen Katherine was thankfully already awake despite the earliness of the hour and she was sitting in a chair, reading the bible when her remaining lady-in-waiting ushered the Spanish Ambassador inside. The true queen of England extended her hand for him to kiss and gave him a rather sad smile.

"Your Majesty, I bring good tidings, the whore has died in childbed," Chapuys told her joyfully.

Katherine frowned at his delight, for all the trouble she caused, not even Anne's death deserved to be celebrated. "Then we should pray for her soul," she said firmly, although she was certain that as a heretic and an adulteress Anne would not be allowed to go to heaven, that didn't mean she wouldn't pray that she would receive mercy. "What of her children?"

"I have it on good authority that in the past six hours since it's birth, the King has not laid eyes on his newest bastard which leads me to conclude that the child must have followed it's mother to the grave. As for the daughter, I have no news but surely now that the witch is dead and gone, King Henry will realize his folly and restore you and Princess Mary to your rightful positions," Chapuys predicted, a grimace on his face as he realized that there was a slim chance that the King, prideful as he was, might continue to declare the brat as a princess, continuing to ignore his true daughter and wife.

"Poor Henry. I expect that he will mourn his mistress but in time, he will send for me and Mary and we can put all of this behind us," Katherine remarked, her tone slightly cheerier than it had been in months.

She crossed herself, knowing that now was not the time to be happy and she would go to the chapel later and pray for the poor woman's soul. Her daughter's sister had just lost her mother and despite Katherine's feelings about Anne, she would be sure to be kind to little Elizabeth Tudor. Perhaps when she was reinstated, she would take care of Elizabeth, keeping her away from her mother's family's influence and raising her to be a good Catholic lady.

"The witch is dead, my queen, so I know that her evil will fade as she can no longer bewitch the King," Chapuys assured her, smiling widely.

Surely now King Henry would see the error of his ways. He would beg for forgiveness from His Holiness. He would expel the Boleyns from court, sending the whore's spawn with them. He would declare that he had been wrong to ever doubt that Queen Katherine was his true wife and Princess Mary was his true heir.

All would be well. He could feel it.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mary Boleyn had ridden through the night to get to court, only to find out that she was too late. She cried in her mother's arms, devastated that her sister was dead. George remained in his own apartments, unwilling to come out and grieve with anyone but his wife.

Henry stood in the nursery where his newborn son was sleeping. He looked so tiny. Dr. Butts assured him that despite the complications of the birth, he was healthy and yet the same had been said about the Duke of Cornwell.

"Your Majesty," Cromwell spoke apprehensively as he entered the room. Henry singled that he should spoke his piece. "There have been some distressing rumors circling London about the new prince. I fear if the bells aren't rung and there isn't some announcement, people will think that you are planning on returning to Princess Katherine, forsaking the Queen's son and daughter."

It was rather a large gamble mentioning the queen after she had so recently died but Cromwell feared if they let the rumors persist, people might believe that the Prince of Wales was really a common baby used to replace the "real" prince who died along with his mother.

The secretary would never think of himself as a sentimental man but honestly Queen Anne had been a friend and ally of his and losing her was about as painful as it was when he had lost his daughters.

It was a tragedy that the world would never truly know what a clever and bright woman Anne was. All the good he would do, healing England from the corruption of the church would be because of her. Cromwell would never stop working until her dream of the reformation was completed.

"Make the announcement that good Queen Anne has given England it's much desired Prince of Wales at the cost of her life. I want there to be celebrations but the joust will be cancelled," Henry decided, not even glancing in his secretary's direction.

"And what will the prince's name be?" Cromwell inquired.

"Ambrose," Henry replied, causing Cromwell to look at him in surprise, not expecting such an unusual name. "It means immortal."

His son's legacy would be immortal and Anne's sacrifice would never be forgotten.

As if he knew he was being talked about, Prince Ambrose opened his eyes and began to start crying. Henry waved his hand to dismiss Cromwell before he scooped the baby out of the crib, hugging him tightly.

"It's all right, my son, your mother has gone to heaven now but I'm still here, I promise," Henry murmured soothingly, kissing the dower head. Then an idea formed in his head. "I shall go fetch your sister, my boy and we can all be a family."

Anne had wanted him to love their daughter as much as he loved their son. He had been so disappointed with Elizabeth's birth something that he had unfairly taken out on her mother. If he could not make it up to Anne, he would do so with his jewel. She would never think for a moment that he loved her less than he loved his precious heir.

Placing his son in the arms of the nursemaid, Henry walked down the corridors, telling his groom to get a carriage ready and to send a message to Hatfield that his daughter's things were to be packed.

* * *

Mary woke up to the news that Anne Boleyn was dead and she wept with joy. The witch was dead and her father was free from her wicked spell. He would rescue her mother and she from their prisons.

Instead of getting ready for the day as Elizabeth's ladies did, Mary stayed in her rooms fully expecting her father or at the very least a messenger from court to arrive and inform the household at Hatfield that Mary was the Princess of Wales and Lady Elizabeth was no longer to be called a princess.

Of course, Mary felt a sliver of pity for Elizabeth who would lose her status after already losing her mother. But the toddler, not yet two, would not even remember being falsely hailed as a princess and thankfully would have no memories of her dreadful mother, allowing her not to be tainted by the vileness of the Boleyns.

It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning when the royal carriage arrived and Mary could hear Lady Bryan shouting at various servants that the king would be here momentarily.

Deciding that she wanted to make a grand entrance, Mary went to the main hall but stayed behind the doors, waiting for her father to demand to see her. Perhaps he would make it plain to the servants who had treated her so shabbily that it was not Elizabeth who he wanted to see but instead his true daughter.

"Your Majesty," Lady Bryan greeted him, making a sweeping curtsy. "Everything has been packed and ready to move the Princess to court."

Mary frowned when she heard this. That sounded as if her father had sent instructions and yet she was not told that she was expected to be at court. Perhaps her father had wanted to surprise her. Yes, that must be it.

"Good. After her mother's death, her brother and I will need her at our side," Henry said sadly.

Mary's eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips. She knew that the whore was pregnant but she had assumed that her half-sibling had died with its mother.

Instead it lived and worse it was a boy. What was truly chilling was how sad her father sounded. Instead of being happy that he finally had his son (one he wouldn't admit was a bastard anyway), he sounded like he was grieving.

Even in death, her father's concubine had her claws in him. Of course if her son lived, there would be no ridding of her poison that was destroying England. Even in death, her stepmother would be able to destroy Mary.

Feeling she might start weeping if she listened any longer, Mary fled to her room and kneeled down at the alter in her tiny chamber, reciting the comforting Latin words, hoping to keep her tears at bay.

* * *

As Henry swung her poor motherless princess around, Anne's words kept resounding in his head.

" _Love your daughters as much as you will love our son."_

_Your daughters. Not our daughter. She meant Mary as well._

The red-haired monarch sighed as he sat down on the rocking chair, rocking Elizabeth back and forth as she fell back asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes looked just like her mother's, something that made Henry feel both happy and sad whenever he saw them.

Anne and Mary had not gotten along and yet she wanted Henry to love his stubborn daughter who would not submit to her father as he did her half-siblings. _  
_

She knew of his hardships with Mary, of how the girl had stubbornly insisted Anne not the queen and Elizabeth was nothing more than a bastard. How she refused to swear the oath when other men had died for refusing to do so. Of how Mary had often pretended to be ill, just to manipulate Henry into releasing her from the punishment she deserved for her obstinacy.

But how could he deny Anne's dying wish? Besides if he was honest with himself, he wanted to be able to reconcile with Mary. He missed his pearl and would love to bring her to court. Perhaps he could invite Hal Fitzroy as well and then all four of his children could be together.

With that thought in mind, Henry handed his sleeping daughter to Lady Bryan, giving orders that the carriage was to travel to court and he and his entourage would follow on horseback.

Then he walked to his daughter's room where he found her kneeling in front of her altar. When she saw him, she curtsied and remained on her knees.

"Your Majesty," she greeted him graciously and Henry marveled at how much she had grown since he had last seen her. She was a child no longer but now a woman, almost twenty-years-old.

"Mary, my pearl, I am happy to see you," he said, placing his hands on her shoulder so he could lift her up and get a better look at her. "I have missed you so."

"I have missed you also, Father," Mary replied sweetly, hope shining on her face. "I have also missed my mother."

Henry frowned slightly, wondering why Mary had to bring her up at that moment but he reasoned that with the news of Anne's death, perhaps his daughter worried that her time with her mother was running out.

"I'm sorry, Mary, I know that I have been keeping you two apart for some time now. I think I could arrange for you to visit the Princess Dowager," Henry assured her, pretending that he had not seen the slight flinch of his daughter when he mentioned her mother's true title. "In the meantime, I had hoped you would return with me to court so you may meet the Prince of Wales."

"How can you still say that? The witch is dead! She should have no more power over you!" Mary cried, suddenly feeling hysterical.

That bitch would be buried as the Queen of England while her father would still insist her mother was the Princess Dowager of Wales and he would probably bury her as such, forcing her to be accept the title in death that she had refused to be called in life.

"How dare you speak of Anne like that! She has saved England by giving birth to a son. God has smiled on her womb twice something He only did to your mother once out of seven times," Henry pointed out, trying to control his temper as he was desperate to make his daughter see reason.

"Saved England?" Mary sneered, her hatred of Anne had officially reached a boiling point. "She has been destroying England just like she destroyed our family. She is nothing but a heretical whore who used witchcraft to turn you against your true family and the true faith. She will be burning in hell for her sins!"

Fury overcame Henry and he lashed out, his hand connecting with Mary's face with a sickening crack, knocking her to the floor.

"ENOUGH! YOU ARE AN UNGRATEFUL BASTARD AND I WILL NOT LISTEN TO ANYMORE OF YOUR CRUEL WORDS!" Henry roared, storming out of the room, not caring when he heard his daughter crying.

He would not let Mary stay at Hatfield where she could fill her siblings' heads with untruths about their mother. She was a fool if she thought that Anne had forced him to do anything.

In fact, he would turn the monasteries that were being closed into schools or hospitals or poorhouses like Anne suggested and make it clear that it was all her idea. He would make sure that both Elizabeth and Ambrose were adored and loved by their people who would never make the mistake of thinking that Mary was legitimate or that he would return to his brother's wife just because his true queen had died.

_I promise, Anne, that I will protect our children from those who foolishly believe that they are bastards for they will be your legacy as well as mine._


	2. Greatest Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tudors and the Boleyns try to deal with the harshness of their new reality.

_**April 23 1535** _

Mary Boleyn was chosen to be the chief mourner at her sister's funeral. She stood with thirty-four other mourners (one for each year of Anne's life) as Archbishop Cranmer preformed the funeral service. The Archbishop of Canterbury looked close to tears himself.

"She who has been the Queen of England on Earth has become a Queen in Heaven," Thomas Cranmer proclaimed, a sad smile on his face as he pressed his hands on the effigy of Anne on top of her casket.

It warmed Mary's heart to know that her sister had a true friend in the court who was not among her ladies. Even Cromwell did not seem to have the same level of devotion towards Anne that Cranmer did.

"Amen," the people in the chapel chorused.

Despite her unpopularity, the chapel was filled with both commoners and courtiers alike, all of them looked saddened as the casket carrying the dead queen out of the chapel to make one last procession through London before being laid to rest in St. George's chapel in at Windsor Castle.

Her mother sat with her father both of them looking like they had aged ten years in the past week. Jane was sitting with George, whispering comforting words in his ears. Mary's husband comforting Cathy and Hal as they both looked as though they were struggling not to cry. Mary bit her lip as she realized her younger daughter, Annie, would never meet her namesake.

Cromwell and Thomas Howard kept their composure but they both bowed their heads as the casket passed them, a moment of quiet grief.

The Spanish Ambassador grimaced when Anne's casket passed and Mary was sure he was upset not at her death itself. Instead he was upset that her death was not followed by the death of the crown prince, her marriage being annulled and the princess being disinherited all so his master's aunt and cousin could be restored to their positions as Queen and Princess of Wales.

Mary could not help but feel hatred towards that bastard and the Holy Roman Emperor. According to her father, while other monarchs had sent their condolences-even Pope Paul had the decency to send the King a message of condolence even though he called her the Lady Anne instead of her proper title-Emperor Charles had the gall to try and ask that his aunt and cousin be returned to their "rightful places".

Mary not often the vindictive type but she was beginning to agree with Anne's wish that all Spaniards would drop dead at the bottom of the sea.

King Henry was not in attendance but that was to be expected as it was custom for kings to send a proxy in their stead. Besides Mary knew that her brother-in-law had barely left his own apartments since Anne's death, only coming outside after Ambrose's christening so his people could see their crown prince.

As Mary followed the procession out of the chapel, she could have sworn she saw a familiar figure standing by the Queen's closet but when she looked back she saw nothing.

_Be at peace, my sweet sister, your children will be safe and loved as you enjoy your eternal rest._

* * *

_**April 30 1535** _

It had been twenty days since his wife died. The entire court was dressed in black and it was raining so much, the devastated monarch was half convinced that the heavens were crying over the death of the true queen of England.

King Henry sat on his throne, deep in thought. Had Katherine Tudor, his youngest sister, lived, would he have been able to look at her without being reminded that his mother died after giving birth to her?

It was a sad thing that he could barely focus on the joy of the celebrations of his son's birth as he was too busy grieving over his wife. His son's birthday would be forever marred by Anne's death.

"Your Majesty? Henry?" Charles Brandon called, worried about his friend's demeanor. He was brooding there was no doubt about it. Once Henry turned to look at him, Charles spoke carefully, not wanting to upset him. "Her Majesty would not want you dwelling on her death. She would want you to celebrate your son instead of mourning her."

"That is true," Henry agreed, remembering how upset Anne had been when she learned that her husband had not laid eyes on their son despite it being hours after his birth. "It's just that he looks so much like her and Elizabeth has her eyes. How can I look at them without remembering that I killed their mother?"

Charles's eyebrow rose, shocked at his friend's words. He knew that Henry had thought George Boleyn's angry accusation was meant for him but he didn't realize that his friend actually believed that he was at fault.

Then he remembered when Elizabeth of York had died, how Henry had ranted that it was his father's fault because he had been so desperate to have another son after Arthur's death that he had pressured his wife into conceiving again for fear that his dynasty would end after him.

It was nothing more than the ramblings of a grieving son but Charles guessed that there was a part of Henry which really did hold his father responsible for his mother's death and that small bit of resentment had turned into guilt once he had lost Anne in a similar fashion. The fact that Henry had become increasingly desperate for a son over the past two years probably did not help matters.

"Can you not look at it in a different way? Anne wanted to give you a son and was willing to sacrifice her life in order to give you what you needed," Charles pointed out, grimacing at how awkward and rather callous his words sounded.

But there was a rumor that Anne upon learning she was close to death had declared that her son would be king and her blood would be well spent.

And if the Duke of Suffolk was to be perfectly honest, perhaps it would be a good thing that she was dead. Although he knew that Henry would never recant his decisions especially now that he had a son, at least now England could get a new queen who would not be so cruel to her stepdaughter and who would try to be a peacemaker during these troubled times.

"You never liked her," Henry growled, his eyes glinting dangerously. "You tried to plant seeds of doubt about her in my mind before she died. You've slandered and undermined her. I'm sure you and that shrew of a wife of yours are celebrating her death."

"No, Your Majesty, I would never-" Charles stuttered, ice chilling his veins.

"God, I have been blind to her pain and you dare to remind me of how I acted towards her," Henry snarled, his temper flaring.

He should have stood by Anne when she gave birth to Elizabeth as a healthy daughter in one year of marriage was a good omen instead of shunning her. Perhaps if he had not had taken mistresses and if he had not fought with her, she wouldn't have lost their second child.

He had blamed her for Elizabeth's sex, for King Francis' duplicity, for More's death, telling her cruel things and getting a sick pleasure at hurting her.

_Have I made you unhappy?_

_I will only be unhappy if you ever stopped loving me._

_London will have to melt into the Thames first._

She had died believing that he had stopped loving her. She had died giving birth to his son, perhaps thinking he would not grieve her. There was nothing he could do to convince her otherwise. It was too late now to make amends for all the pain her had caused her.

And here Brandon was, telling him that Anne's death was a good thing. It took all his willpower not to strangle the duke.

"I want you and your wife to leave court by the end of the day," Henry commanded before adding with an afterthought. "After you have told your servants to pack your household's things and prepare to leave, I want you to tell Lord Rochford and Lady Mary that I need to speak with them at their earliest convenience."

Charles looked as though wanted to protest but it was clear from Henry's expression that he was struggling to control his temper and if the Duke of Suffolk lingered, he could receive more than what was hopefully a temporary banishment.

With a bow, Charles meekly slinked away, leaving Henry alone with his anger and despair.

The red-haired monarch gripped the armrests of his throne tightly before heaving a great big sigh and rising from his seat, he walked over to his desk, writing some instructions down on a piece of parchment before commanding a page bring it to Cromwell who he would speak to later.

Nearly twenty minutes passed before the heard announced George and Mary Boleyn and the siblings were ushered inside.

Seeing Anne's beloved siblings brought a melancholy smile to Henry's face.

"Rise both of you," Henry commanded, not wanting to waste their time on such courtesies. "I hope both of you know that despite our hardships, I truly did love your sister and I wish that she could be here again so I could prove my love to her. I also hope that the two of you will help me keep Anne alive in spirit for Ambrose and Elizabeth's sake."

Nan Seville was now Elizabeth's governess and Henry had no doubt that Anne's closest friend would be telling the royal children countless stories of their mother when they grew older.

However, as Anne's siblings, George and Mary could do more then that. They could keep Anne's memory alive throughout England.

"Of course we will, Your Majesty," George assured him, a slight edge to his tone and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Lady Mary, in Anne's will she requested that your husband be knighted and your son be given a title of peerage. In addition to this, I would like to offer you Anne's old title: Marquess of Pembroke," Henry offered, looking fondly at the older sister he knew Anne regretted reconciling with before she died.

Before Henry had come in to say goodbye to his dying wife, she had told her mother of her wishes for her oldest sister and once Elizabeth Boleyn had informed the King, he had been sure to tell Cromwell to add that to her will.

Mary gaped at him for moment before regaining the use of her tongue. "Your Majesty, I am touched by such an honor but I would rather my niece get the Marquess of Pembroke as she is Anne's daughter," she pointed out, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Realizing that was indeed a perfect way to honor Anne's firstborn, Henry nodded, deciding right then and there, to reward Mary's husband with a title of his own along with a knighthood.

"A splendid idea that I'm sure Anne would have loved. Thank you for suggesting it," Henry complimented her graciously before turning back to George. "I know that Anne had different ideas for the monasteries than Cromwell does. I want to discuss them with you and together we can create plans for schools in her name so the people can see the good she wanted to achieve."

* * *

Meanwhile Mary Tudor was in carriage, heading to her new residence with just a bit of apprehension and despair.

She had truly thought that with Anne Boleyn's death, her troubles would be over. That the spell the Boleyn witch had cast over her father would be broken and he would see his actions as the travesty that they were.

Instead, thanks to Anne giving birth to a son, she was buried as the Queen of England and her bastards were hailed as the King's true heirs. If anyone had any doubt that Mary would not be reinstated as the Princess of Wales, their doubts disappeared when her father made the announcement that Prince Ambrose's ceremony, where he would be officially declared Prince of Wales, would take place in May.

Although it had been weeks since her disastrous meeting with her father, Mary could still feel the stinging slap and his angry words were still ringing in her ears. After that, her father had left her behind in Hatfield and the next time he acknowledged her with through Sir Francis Bryan, Lady Bryan's son and Anne's cousin.

Her father had decreed that Mary was to have a small household of her own instead of remaining at Hatfield. Had he not made it clear that he simply didn't want her to be around her siblings and for the fact that her new chamberlain was clearly a supporter of Anne, she might have thought that her father was softening towards her.

So instead of rescuing her from the humiliation of being a servant to her half-sister and deciding if he must insist on calling her a bastard that he would at least give her a household and estates all her own, he was simply exiling her.

She had asked Sir Francis where her father was sending her but the knight was under strict orders not to tell her. He also, rather ominously, told her that once they arrived at her new home, he would inform her of the strict stipulations her father had created to make sure that she did not plot any treason against Prince Ambrose.

What did her father have in store for her? Was her life going to be even worse than it was when she was at Hatfield? Would she be a prisoner, forced to live the rest of her days under house arrest, unable to have guests or even go outside?

Years ago, she had been convinced that her father could never be so cruel to her-and it was only because of Anne that he was-now she wasn't so sure.

They arrived at a shabby looking manor which looked gloomy even in the daylight. Sir Francis opened the carriage door and helped Lady Mary out, his expression bland.

"Lady Mary, His Majesty, in his great kindness, has decreed that you are to share your household with the Dowager Princess of Wales," he recited, not even reacting when Mary gasped upon realizing that her father had sent her to live with her mother. "All of the servants will be calling you both by your proper titles, you may only receive visitors when I am there as well, you may not leave the More's grounds without the King's permission and every letter being sent or received will be read by myself. If you or the Princess Dowager disobeys these rules or tries to get around them, your households will be separated immediately. Do you understand?"

Sir Francis spoke without malice or sympathy. Mary had no doubt he had been chosen to enforce the king's commands because her father trusted that he would not turn a blind eye if one of the rules were broken.

She could guess that Lady Elizabeth Darnell had been dismissed as her father was well aware that her mother would rather have servants referring to her as the Princess Dowager rather than losing Mary again.

Part of Mary wanted to believe that her father was softening towards her and her mother and that in time he would return to them. But deep down she knew there was only one reason why he decided to reunite his daughter with her mother after keeping them apart for the past five years.

Anne had died, leaving her two children without their mother and despite clearly not trusting them, he had opted to allow Mary to be with her mother again a chance his younger children would never get.

When Sir Francis led Mary into the manor, she was not expecting to see Sir Henry Norris nor Mistress Madge Shelton waiting for them. But then again, she supposed it was to be expected that her father would fill her mother's household with as many people he knew for a fact supported Anne instead of allowing it to be run by those who might sympathize with the former queen.

Despite being another cousin of Anne, Madge was rather sweet and polite, leading Mary to her chambers so her maid-in-waiting, Susan Clarenceux, could help her change out of her traveling clothes.

"I would like to see my mother first. Does she not know I have arrived?" Mary wondered, feeling perplexed that her mother had not come out to greet her. She knew that Katherine was just as eager to see her as she was. She prayed that her mother was not ill.

"Well since His Majesty replaced Mistress Darrell with me as the Princess Katherine's lady-in-waiting, Her Highness has refused to hear what I had to say as she was determined not to let me speak while I used her correct title," Madge told her, avoiding Mary's eyes, despite her loyalty to her cousin, she did not like upsetting either of the two ladies.

Francis Bryan on the other hand let out an exasperated sigh and even rolled his eyes much to Mary's fury and the others in the room's discomfort.

"Well that is ridiculous, I will explain the matter to her. If she will not listen to me then at least she will read the King's orders," he snapped.

"No, I will tell her," Mary said firmly, giving Sir Bryan a fierce glare which practically dared him to argue. "I assume that because I am living with my mother, I will be allowed to speak to her without your presence."

She did not want her reunion with her mother to be marred by the fact that they were living with servants who would treat them with disrespect or, to be fair, less respect than their true ranks deserved.

* * *

When Queen Katherine had learned that before dying, Anne Boleyn had given birth to a son who her husband had named Ambrose and declared that this newborn was the Prince of Wales, she felt too devastated to even rise from her bed.

Part of her felt angry at Chapuys for giving her false hope even though she knew she had been far too quick to agree with him despite knowing that her husband was too stubborn to admit that he was wrong even if the boy hadn't lived.

Then her only remaining loyal lady was removed from her household and Sir Henry Norris and Lady Madge Shelton were sent to replace her steward and her lady-in-waiting. To both of their credit, they treated her politely despite their refusal to call her Your Majesty.

However, Katherine had always refused the service of those who called her by her false title and she would refuse theirs as well. Before Anne's death, Henry had not dared to leave her without attendants and allowed Darnell to be her lady perhaps out of fear of upsetting her nephew. Now he refused to budge, preemptively telling Norris that he would receive no letters from her.

Had Henry lost all sense of decency? How much more humiliation could she take before she broke completely?

She had not allowed Madge to dress her so she stayed in her nightgown as she prayed to God to soften her husband's heart, to somehow break the hold Anne Boleyn had over him even from the grave.

Katherine heard footsteps entering the chapel but she did not turn, expecting it to be a maid bringing her something to eat and drink.

"Mama?"

Eyes wide and her heart thudding in her chest, Kathrine rose from her knees and turned around slowly, wondering if she was in some sort of dream. Her daughter, now nineteen, stood in the chapel door, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Without a word, Katherine flew at Mary, embracing her, breathing in her scent. She was real. Her beloved daughter was back in her arms after six long years.

After holding her close, she held Mary at arms' length to studying her features.

"Mary, oh my sweet girl. Look at you, you've grown so much," Katherine murmured, unable to keep her own tears at bay. "I can't believe you're really here."

"I'm here, Mother and I'm never leaving you again," Mary promised, her shoulders shaking in pure joy at being reunited with her mother.

There was so much Katherine wanted to say and ask but she realized that now was not the time. Now she just wanted to hold Mary in her arms and never let her go.

* * *

_**May 5 1535** _

When he was a simple knight, who had just recently married the daughter of a disgraced earl and become an ambassador, he had hoped to make his name at court as a great diplomat.

As he grew older and he began to grew even more ambitious, he prayed to be an earl, if not a duke like his brother-in-law. He also saw his children as a way to gain more ties to the nobility.

Then King Henry began courting Anne and instead of making her his mistress, he chose to upheaval England by making her his queen. Thomas saw himself as the father of the queen and the grandfather of the future king and he nearly wept in joy.

He saw the future where the Boleyns would be the most powerful family in England for they would forever be bound by blood to the next generation of Tudor kings. History would not forget them.

When Elizabeth was born, Thomas had been afraid that his glorious future was in danger and he had railed at Anne for letting this happen and then when she miscarried her second child, he had accused her of causing it.

She fought with the king, making a nuisance of herself by getting so angry over trivial things. It was almost as though she didn't care that her position was so shaky that if she angered the king enough she would find herself cast aside much like Katherine of Aragon. If only she had behaved sensibly and focused more on birthing a male heir rather than arguing with her husband about his mistresses or trying to speak about matters that did not concern her.

However as frustrated as he was at his daughter, he had never wanted her dead. Although the pragmatic part of him knew that if it was Ambrose who died and Anne who lived, the king would not be so generous and loving towards the Boleyns, it still saddened him that he was to get all that he ever wanted with his daughter dying to achieve it.

Was his son right about him? Was he at fault for Anne's death? Would history remember Thomas Boleyn as the man who sacrificed his youngest daughter at the alter of ambition?

These questions plagued Thomas as he watched his grandson be declared the Prince of Wales. As he watched his older grandson be knighted and made the Baron of Hudson. Then William Stafford was knighted and made the Viscount of Bindon.

"Thomas Boleyn, the Earl of Wiltshire," Cromwell called.

The Earl got up his expression somber as he walked towards the throne. He passed George who was scowling at him, his nose wrinkled in disdain. His son had not talked to him since Anne's death. Thomas wondered if George wanted him to refuse the King's wish to make him a duke.

His son didn't realize that Anne would have wanted her father to be made a duke, that she would have been overjoyed if she had been here, sitting on the empty throne beside her husband. He didn't realize that if Henry died during Ambrose's childhood that it would be important that the Lord Protector was a powerful duke so he could be sure to keep others from trying to control his grandson.

Despite how much he tried to feel happy as the King removed the Earl's corset to place one of the Duke's on his head, Thomas could not help but glance mournfully at the throne beside Henry wishing his beloved daughter was there, longing to see the joy in her eyes and wishing he could thank her for all that she had done for him.

"By order of the King, you are henceforth to be known as Thomas Boleyn, the Duke of Kent," Henry commanded, giving the older man a rather sympathetic look.

_Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Anne, your family will remain strong and I will do everything in my power to make your son a good king._

* * *

_**May 12 1535** _

"His Majesty King Francis is thrilled that you have made him the godfather of Prince Ambrose," the French Ambassador began. He was not stretching the truth that much as King Francis, had feared that his earlier refusal to betroth his son with Elizabeth would make his English counterpart snub him for his sister's husband the King of Navarre. "He hopes you will be willing to open negotiations once again for a marriage agreement between the Duke of Angoulême and the Princess Elizabeth."

As Queen Anne had grown up in his court, Francis had a soft spot for the girl as did his sister Marguerite. Apparently Queen Marguerite had broken down crying when she learned of her friend's death. Henry had made both of them godparents to Ambrose, knowing that Anne would have wanted them to be. She would also have loved to tie their daughter to France if not their son.

However, after what happened the last time, Henry was not so sure. After all, there were plenty of princes his precious jewel could marry, baring the spawn of Katherine's sisters. In fact, the King of Sweden and the King of Denmark each had a crown prince Elizabeth's age and considering they were not controlled by the bishop of Rome, they would be more than willing to make her their future queen.

"As I recall the last time we had such negotiations, the French Admiral was a guest at our court. As I recall, he snubbed all the festivities my wife had planned in his honor, acted quite boorishly when he did grace us with his presence and then as if that wasn't enough humiliation, he told us that King Francis would not even consider agreeing to a marriage between the Duke of Orléans and a 'princess whose legitimacy was in doubt' and then to make matters worse, he dared to suggest that my bastard daughter would make a better match for his second son. Do you think that I am willing to let my beloved jewel be insulted with another rejection, this time being told she isn't good enough for the youngest son?" Henry demanded, his voice rising as he spoke.

If Francis had kept his promise and had continued to support Anne and Henry, perhaps their marriage wouldn't have been so strained. If he had not gone back on his word and made a statement that he viewed Elizabeth as a true princess then the other monarchs of Europe would have been compelled to do the same.

Instead he had insulted and embarrassed both Henry and Anne, utterly humiliating them by toying with them and then rejecting the prospect outright. Anne had been devastated especially when Henry had lost his temper, telling her harshly that no member of royalty would want a princess they viewed as a bastard for their sons. Of course the fight they had moments before did not help.

" _You always told me that we should be truthful with each other. You said it was the definition of love," she told him after he demanded that she stop meddling in his affairs._

" _Then here's the truth. You must shut your eyes and endure like your betters have done before you," he had snarled, putting a vindictive stress on betters so his wife would know exactly who he meant by betters._

" _How can you say that to me? Don't you know I love you a thousand times more than Katherine ever did?" Anne had cried, sounding hurt that he would say such a thing to her._

" _And don't you know that I can drag you down as quickly as I raised you? 'Tis lucky you have your bed already, madam because if you did not, I would not give it to you again," he had screamed at her._

_"I can drag you down as quickly as I raised you."_

He had said that only a few months before she discovered she was pregnant for the third time. Had she been thinking about what he had said when she was pregnant with Ambrose? Did she fear that he would make good on his threat if she did not have a son?

The reminder of their fight just made him scowl darkly at the French Ambassador for surely he would not of been so cruel if he had not just been slighted in such a humiliating way by the French Admiral. Of course he would have gotten aggravated that Anne had assumed that an innocent conversation was flirtation and she was once again insisting on meddling in his affairs but he would not have been in such a foul mood already and he would have had more patience to calm down his jealous wife.

"Your Majesty, my master realizes that he was mistaken in thinking that the Princess Elizabeth was not legitimate and has no intention of letting his son marry the Lady Mary despite what the Pope might think," Jean de Bellay told him, trying not to feel nervous as the English monarch continued to glower at him.

"Oh? Why now?" Henry shouted, not at all mollified by the ambassador's words. "Because my son suddenly proves to King Francis that what I've been saying all this time that my marriage to Katherine of Aragon was cursed and that my marriage to Queen Anne was true Or is it that with Anne's death, King Francis thinks the Emperor and the Pope might be more willing to forgive him now that it's clear that I won't ever return to my accursed union?"

Charles had said that Anne had sacrificed her life in order to give Henry the son he craved. Apparently that bastard was more correct than he had realized. Anne had died and suddenly their daughter was good enough for the pompous King of France either because Ambrose had been proof of God's favor or because the death of the woman many blamed for his Great Matter and the Oath made people realize that just maybe King Henry would not be undoing what he had done.

"I-Your Majesty, I-" the ambassador stammered. If there was one thing worse than a angry jilted king, it was a grieving angry jilted king.

"Enough. If King Francis wants his son to marry my daughter, it is up to him to make an offer. In writing," Henry demanded, having enough of this discussion which was only making him feel worse about Anne's death.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I will discuss it with King Francis right away," Bellay replied, bowing.

Henry waved his hand, indicating that the meeting was over and Belly quickly took his leave, looking slightly shaken.

Once he had left, the red-haired monarch let lose his anger by throwing everything he could lift across the room. After letting out a cathartic scream, Henry sank to his knees, his rage bleeding out of him.

He had blamed her too. He had blamed her for the Great Matter, for his strained relationship with his daughter, for his lack of a son, for the duplicity of the French and for the death of Sir Thomas More.

All Anne had wanted was to be no man's mistress and then to be his loving wife, mother of his sons. She had never once told him what to do about Mary or More and yet as others had, he had blamed her for his own actions.

"I'm sorry, Anne," his whispered. "I'm so sorry, my love."

* * *

Ambassador Eustace Chapuys was disappointed. He had hoped that with the Boleyn whore dead, things would go back to the way it was before she bewitched the King of England.

Admittedly, he had jumped to conclusions, believing that the baby had died as well and he made the mistake of telling the king that the Emperor would forgive all that had gone wrong between them if he restored Mary and Katherine to their rightful positions, something he most certainly should have discussed with his master first.

Anne Boleyn might be dead but it was clear that as long as her son was still alive, the King would continue to turn to heresy forsaking not only Rome but also his true wife and heir.

As much as he loathed to admit it and it disgusted him to be thinking this way, Anne Boleyn's bastards would have to die in order for her evil to be banished in its entirety and they could not wait and see if the children died naturally. Unfortunately, they would have to die by someone's hand.

Feeling rather despondent by these new obstacles and troubled by his thoughts, he went to speak to William Brereton about it, hoping that he could do what Chapuys would not. Killing the whore was something Brereton viewed as his sacred duty given to him by God. He had no qualms trying to shoot her when she was pregnant with the bastard Elizabeth or trying to poison her which caused her miscarriage.

He had said killing an innocent life was a terrible thing but under the circumstances, it was for the greater good.

Chapuys hoped he would have the same opinion now even though the whore was already dead. There was some sort of dramatic irony that the King's concubine had died the one time, Brereton had not tried to kill her.

When the Spaniard spoke to Brereton, he was pleasantly surprised that Brereton agreed to his plan at once.

"It is clear that the harlot used some sort of witchcraft to create that boy and perhaps she did the same for her daughter as well. Those children are the devil's spawn and are therefore as evil as their mother," Sir William Brereton agreed. "I know that they are both in the nursery so if I sneak in, I can smother them both."

"There will be guards in front of the nursery, how will you explain your presence without suspicion?" Chapuys challenged.

As King Henry's groom, Brereton would be expected to accompany the king when he visited his bastards but unless he had a specific reason for being there especially considering he would have to be there when there were no nursemaids or governesses in the nursery.

"I'll figure out a ruse to distract the guards and then slip out before they get back," Brereton decided. "If all goes well, the King will think the two brats simply died in their sleep."

After all, many children died of unknown illnesses before they turned five.

"And if it does not go well?" Chapuys inquired.

"God has already killed the whore for us. I'm sure He wishes for the spawn of Satan to die as well. I won't fail this time, Your Excellency," Brereton assured him.

"You understand that if you are caught, that neither my master nor the Pope can be blamed for this," Chapuys told him firmly.

"If I am caught, I will die a martyr's death. It will be an honor to have sacrificed my life to destroy the remains of the Boleyn whore's witchcraft," Brereton declared passionately, a fanatical gleam in his eyes.

"I pray that you will succeed," Chapuys said, not entirely convinced that Brereton would be able to do it but he had no other options so he would have to trust this brute and pray that this time would not end in failure like the other times.

* * *

_**May 19 1535** _

Brereton followed the nursemaid as she walked down the corridor, praying that she did not detect him. Luckily it was late enough that most of the court was at dinner and the woman seemed to occupied with her own thoughts to hear his footsteps.

Once they neared the nursery, Brereton stuck the nursemaid from behind, slamming her head against the wall, making sure she was unconscious before he dashed towards the nursery, trying to look as frantic as possible.

"Help! There is a woman lying on the floor, I think someone might have attacked her!" he exclaimed, pointing to where he had just come from.

At once the two guards ran towards where he was pointing, not suspecting that the attacker would already be standing there with them.

Smirking, Brereton crept into the nursery, and grabbed a pillow from a nearby rocking chair, walking up to the two cradles.

Elizabeth was nearing her second year of life and would soon be able to sleep in a bed but for now she slept soundly next to her month-old brother.

Both babies looked so peaceful and innocent, it almost gave Brereton pause but he was not about to let their sweet faces fool him and make him doubt that they should die like their mother. After all the devil was able to make himself look kind to mask his evil. It was time to send them both to hell so he could save England.

With that thought in mind, Brereton held the pillow over the cradle and poised it above the infant's face when someone grabbed him from behind, pulling him away before pressing what felt like a hot poker to his side.

"Get the hell away from my grandchildren," Elizabeth Boleyn growled.


	3. The Love of a Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Chapuys and Brereton's plot has dire consequences for Mary and Katherine. As the Boleyns gain more power, their enemies become eager to take them down by making sure Henry gets a new queen who is a champion for Mary.

_**May 19 1535** _

Thomas Boleyn could not be described as the most loving of husbands or fathers but when he heard that his wife had found one of the king's grooms trying to smother their grandson and that she would have been stabbed by him had the guards not intervened, the Duke of Kent rushed to her side, relieved that she had not gotten herself killed.

"What were you thinking? You should have gone and found a nearby guard instead of confronting the madman yourself. You could have gotten yourself killed," the duke admonished her sternly as he inspected her just in case the traitorous knave had managed to harm her in some way.

"Gotten myself killed? Goodness, Thomas, do you think I wanted him to attack me?" Elizabeth inquired in annoyance. "Besides there were no guards when I entered the nursery and I doubt I could have found any in time to save our grandson."

"You still should have been more careful. I've already lost my daughter. I would prefer not to lose my wife as well," Thomas snapped.

"Careful, Thomas, someone might think you are going soft," Elizabeth giggled, kissing her husband's lips.

"Perish the thought," Thomas drawled, embracing her. "I can assure you that the King will be making sure that there will be extra guards at nursery so next time you won't be able to play hero."

"God willing there won't be a next time," Elizabeth murmured as she buried her face in her husband's shoulder.

She shivered remembering rounding the corner just in time to see a man enter the unguarded nursery. With a feeling of foreboding, she had hurried inside just in time to see him raise a pillow over the cradle containing her grandson.

With adrenaline pumping in her veins, she grabbed a hot poker from the unlit fireplace, grabbed the man's doublet pulling him backwards before pressing the sharp edge of the poker to his side.

God must have been with her for when the man tried knocking the poker out of her hands, she had managed to keep a grip on it and swung it at his face before he could grab his dagger.

As if she sensed her grandmother was in danger, Princess Elizabeth woke up and started wailing which caused her brother to do the same, alerting the servants nearby that something was amiss.

Elizabeth had no idea help was on the way but her grandchildren's cries just made her keep swinging the poker at the groomsman, unwilling to give him the chance to attack her or her grandbabies.

Brereton had a bloody nose and a bruised face by the time the guards had arrived. If they had taken any longer, Elizabeth was certain that she would have successfully given him a concussion.

While the guards were detaining and taking the groomsman to the Tower, Elizabeth had comforted her grandchildren assuring them that they were safe and singing them a lullaby until they fell back asleep.

She refused to leave the nursery to be checked on by the royal physician and then tell Cromwell what happened until both the Princess and the Prince were sleeping peacefully under the watchful eyes of their governesses.

* * *

The king is angry-not unreasonably so under the circumstances and yet Cromwell feared it would be his head on a spike if he did not get that impossibly tight-lipped fool to confess the names of those he was working for.

While it was clear that Sir William Brereton was a fanatical Catholic and his hatred for Anne Boleyn and her children was genuine enough that it was entirely possible that he had deluded himself into thinking that God wanted him to kill those he blamed for England's reformation, Cromwell doubted very much that he didn't at least have an ally who encouraged him to carry out his murderous intentions.

Brereton was stubborn and he endured the torture that Cromwell inflicted on him, claiming that God had sent him every time the King's secretary demanded an answer from him.

But soon enough his resolve began to crack and finally he confessed to everything, detailing his previous attempts to kill Anne and more importantly the names of who he was working for.

As soon as he was satisfied that the groom had told him everything, Cromwell made haste back to the palace to give his report to the King who had summoned Norfolk and Kent to listen in.

"According to Brereton, he was first approached by the Spanish Ambassador in hopes of killing Queen Anne sometime before you were married," Cromwell began with a frown.

"Chapuys? Do you mean to tell me that the Emperor is behind these underhanded attacks on my wife and true heirs?" Henry demanded before telling Norfolk to put the ambassador under house arrest. It was bad enough knowing that he had harbored a murderous maniac in his household for years, unknowingly giving the madman access to his wife and children, but the idea that Katherine's nephew was so determined to restore Mary as Princess of Wales that he would resort to murder was horrifying. If the plan had worked and both Elizabeth and Ambrose had died, would the Emperor have tried to kill Henry next when it became clear that he would not return to Katherine and Mary?

"Brereton had no idea and considering the next name he uttered as his co-conspirator, I think it may be that the Holy Roman Emperor was truly in the dark," Cromwell explained. He had been hoping for an Imperial alliance and he was aware that, the King was unlikely to agree to any warm relationship with Emperor Charles if he thought that he was involved. "Brereton mentioned that he had gone to Rome and Pope Paul gave his blessing to kill Queen Anne."

"Do we have any evidence corroborating this?" King Henry asked, shrewd enough to knew that Pope Paul would deny this completely and he would point out that this accusation could have simply been the ramblings of a man wishing to please his torturer.

"Master Rich is thoroughly searching through Brereton's possessions for any evidence. Unfortunately, the only thing we have now is a request by Brereton to travel to Rome two years ago but nothing to say that the meeting with the Bishop of Rome actually happened," Cromwell replied apologetically. "Before he mentioned meeting with the Pope, he said he tried to kill Queen Anne in France only to be stopped by the presence of Your Majesty. Afterwards he tried two more times, once at her coronation and then he slipped herbs in her drink when she was pregnant the second time."

Henry growled as he realized the significance of Anne's second pregnancy which had ended in a miscarriage. The Duke of Kent looked equally outraged and guilty at the realization that his daughter's miscarriage was the fault of Brereton. If it weren't for that bastard, Anne would have given birth to a healthy child.

Although, Henry would never wish that Ambrose wasn't born, if she had not miscarried, she wouldn't have had gotten pregnant with the baby whose difficult birth would tragically cause her to lose her life.

"And what of the Princess Dowager? Are we to believe that she had no knowledge of what her allies were up to?" Thomas inquired. After all, Chapuys had been to visit the former queen after Anne's death. He had no doubt that Katherine of Aragon was overjoyed that her rival was dead, only to be devastated when she learned that the true queen had birth a healthy son. She had gone behind the King's back before, making sure the Emperor interceded on her behalf and made the Pope his prisoner, making sure Henry would not receive his annulment.

Thomas had no doubt that Katherine of Aragon and perhaps even her dratted daughter had hoped that their assassin would succeed in his goal to murder Anne and her children, ridding themselves of their rivals, foolishly predicting that Henry would go back to them.

"Brereton did in fact say that he was doing this for the true Queen and the Princess of Wales but when I asked him if they knew, he denied it," Cromwell said coolly, directing his answer to Henry even though it had been Boleyn who asked the question. "In my opinion, Your Majesty, it is entirely probable that Ambassador Chapuys did not tell his master, the Princess Dowager nor Lady Mary in fear that they would order him not to go through with it."

"Why wouldn't they approve of his actions? Anne's death is what they wanted," Thomas snapped. He would not let the people involved in a plot against his daughter and grandchildren go unpunished simply because of politics. The Emperor and the Pope were sadly out of his reach but the Spanish bitch and her bastard daughter were not. "Katherine of Aragon and Lady Mary believe that Anne, Prince Ambrose and Princess Elizabeth are the only ones standing in their way. Of course they would be willing to work with bloodthirsty knaves to kill their rivals."

"That is enough!" Henry barked. While Thomas Boleyn's anger was understandable, he would not allow anyone call his daughter a murderer. Even if he was to believe that Katherine would be willing to allow Anne to be murdered, he knew his former wife enough to know that she would never allow an innocent child be harmed. "Brereton and Chapuys were no doubt working for my sister-in-law's cause but it is clear that only one person knew of their plans and unfortunately we don't even have any concrete proof or even the means to bring the Pope to justice. Until we have more evidence that says otherwise, it will be only Chapuys and Brereton who will be executed for treason."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I shall write to the Emperor of our findings. I think it would be best if we had a trial for at least the ambassador while Brereton can be executed privately if that pleases you," Cromwell suggested, his expression bland as he ignored the tension in the room.

"Let it be done."

* * *

_**May 20 1535** _

Try as he might, Henry could not shake off his father-in-law's words and decided that he needed to at the very least make sure that they had no knowledge of Chapuys' plans. He sent a letter to the More, instructing Bryan and Norris to question the two ladies before finally putting this matter to bed.

Although Sir Norris had not told Katherine what was going on, his nervous demeanor was enough to put her on edge.

He questioned her about the conversations she had with Chapuys, asking her what, if anything, he said about the King's marriage and the birth of Prince Ambrose. It was clear to Katherine that the Spanish Ambassador had done something treasonous and she was suspected of helping him.

"Has he ever spoken to you about Sir William Brereton?" Norris asked, as he read off the list of questions Cromwell had sent.

"No, he's never mentioned the man. I only have heard of Brereton being my husband's groomsman," Katherine replied, her brow furrowing in concern. What in God's name had Chapuys done?

"When he visited you after Queen Anne's death, what did you two speak about?" Norris asked.

"He simply told me that Lady Anne and her son had died," Katherine replied truthfully. She would not tell him how delighted Chapuys was to tell her of Anne's death. She did not make matters worse for her old friend. "Or at least he thought that her son had died with her."

"You mean that he had no idea that her son lived when he spoke to you and neither of you were aware of the fact that Prince Ambrose was alive and well," Norris prompted, a thoughtful look on his face as he jotted down her answer. Any other man would probably be trying to twist her words to make her sound guilty but it was clear that Norris simply wanted to get the facts correct. "Your Highness, for my last question, I must ask if you would be willing to swear the Oath of Supremacy."

"It pains me to disobey my husband but I cannot swear to such a thing," Katherine said, giving the man in front of her a sympathetic look. He was just doing his job and she knew that he might be on the receiving end of the King's wrath when he was forced to inform him that once again Katherine defied him.

"Your Highness, Sir William Brereton acting on the orders of Ambassador Eustace Chapuys tried to smother Prince Ambrose to death yesterday. After being captured and interrogated, the groomsmen admitted to conspiring with the Spanish Ambassador numerous times to kill the late Queen Anne, Princess Elizabeth and now Prince Ambrose. The King believes that if you and your daughter do not sign the oath, your daughter will have to be moved to a more permanent residence and kept under house arrest until she relents," Norris read from the paper, decidedly avoiding the older woman's eyes. "He notes that if someone else tries to plot against his true heirs, he might have to take drastic measures to ensure that Prince Ambrose and Princess Elizabeth are not in danger from those who support their half-sister."

Katherine's eyes widened in horror as her husband's hidden meaning dawned on her. He wasn't just prepared to separate her and Mary if they did not relent, he was planning on making his own daughter a prisoner if not worse in order to protect his son.

Part of Katherine wanted to believe that this was just a bluff to force her hand and that her husband would never be so cruel to even think of executing their daughter. But if Henry could convince himself that he had to make her a bastard just to get a legitimate son what would stop him from convincing himself that she had to die in order to make England safe.

He would sign her death warrant with a heavy heart but he would sign it, allowing a swordsman to cut the head off his once beloved pearl.

"I must speak to my daughter," Katherine declared, getting up and hurrying out of the room before Norris could say anything.

He caught up with her when she reached the chambers Sir Francis Bryan was interrogating Mary in but he did not stop her from throwing open the doors.

"If you were my daughter I would smash your head against the wall until it was as soft as an apple!" Francis shouted, towering over Mary who looked quite pale.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" Katherine roared, furious that any man would dare to yell at her daughter like that. At once she stood between Francis and Mary, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I know you do not see me as a queen or my daughter as a princess but we are still royalty and you will show us respect!"

"Madam, I have no respect for women who would collaborate with such evil men who sought to kill my cousin and her innocent children," Sir Francis spat, his lip curling in disgust. "I should think you would be grateful for the king's generosity and take the oath, for it might be the only thing that will keep you both from becoming prisoners in the Tower of London."

Mary let out a sob and Katherine quickly embraced her, glaring daggers at the knight.

"That's enough, Sir Francis, let's just give them so time to talk it over," Norris ordered, grabbing the other man by the arm. Sir Francis shook the other man off him but also took a step backwards.

"One hour," Francis snarled before spinning on his heels and storming out, not even bowing to either of them. Sir Norris on the other hand bowed deeply to both of them before leaving with pity in his eyes.

"Father would never let us be arrested, would he?" Mary cried as her mother and she sat down on the window seat.

"I wish I could be sure of that but I'm not," Katherine admitted. "Your father loves you very much but I think that he fears that there will be men who will continue to try to kill your brother in our name if we don't sign the oath."

There was some irony in the fact that Chapuys' efforts to reinstate Mary and Katherine had made their positions even shakier.

"Surely God is just testing us. He wants you to be Queen and me to be Father's heir. If we keep holding out…" Mary trailed off, guessing what would happen if they did so and she shuddered at the thought. "Can't Emperor Charles send help? Or perhaps we could incite a rebellion? Father would see reason if enough we had an army backing us."

"And you think it would be a good thing if we forced your father to do the right thing," Katherine said in a doubtful tone. "Besides England has a prince, sweetheart, there won't be many people who would rise up against a Prince of Wales, whatever his legitimacy. As for the Emperor, if you seek the aid of foreign monarch, the people of England might see you as a traitor instead of their queen. Mary, it breaks my heart but I think we should take the oath."

As much as it hurt her to think this, Katherine was afraid that they had no options left. Fisher and More were dead. With his ongoing feud with France and the treason of Chapuys, Emperor Charles might not be able to continue to support his aunt and cousin especially not when the people of England adored their new prince and had all but forgotten about Katherine and Mary.

Mary was running out of allies and Katherine was unsure of how much longer she had left in this world. She had to protect her daughter even if it meant denying her birthright and allowing herself to be called a whore.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked, looking up her mother's desolate face.

"It's the only way to protect ourselves," Katherine half-lied.

Henry would never force her to sign the oath. After all, a barren and sickly old woman was no danger to the young Prince of Wales. But if she didn't do it, she knew Mary never would and they would be separated again with Mary being locked up either in the tower or under house arrest.

She had fought the Great Matter for her reputation and Mary's birthright. Now she would forsake both  if it meant that her daughter could be reconciled with her father, protected by royal favor.

Katherine's vision blurred as tears rolled down her face dripping onto her daughter's head.

At least there was one bright spot in all of this. They would always be together, facing whatever trouble that was thrust their way.

With that thought in mind, Katherine entangled herself from Mary and went over to where a bible sat. Unfortunately it was in English but Katherine had memorized the prayer she was thinking of enough times to recite it in Latin.

She recited it while clasping her daughter's hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

* * *

_**September 7 1535** _

"To the Princess Elizabeth, Marquess of Pembroke and the Princess Royal!" Henry toasted even though his daughter was not at the festivities held in her honor. She was only two-years-old and had long been sent to her bed after spending a few hours being admired by her father's courtiers.

"Hear, hear!"

"Your Majesty, the King of Denmark wishes for me to present a gift for the little Princess," the Danish ambassador announced.

Henry smiled at the man. Negotiations for Elizabeth to be married to Prince Fredrick of Denmark and Norway were underway.

King Christian III was new to the throne but he was for the reformation and he was eager for some allies who were not under the thumb of Rome. After his son reached his first birthday, he had sent his ambassador to England to discuss a marriage betrothal between Fredrick and Elizabeth.

If it all worked out, his daughter would be the queen of two countries. Henry was certain that Anne would be thrilled to know that her precious daughter wouldn't be a mere duchess even if she preferred a French match.

He hoped she would also be happy that not only had he given their daughter the title of Marquess of Pembroke but a new title that highlighted how she was his oldest legitimate daughter, one that no other princess had before: the title of Princess Royal.

As for Ambrose, it seemed that after the death of his ambassador not mention the fact that both Mary and Katherine had finally relented, the Emperor was now eager to marry his younger daughter, Joanna to the Prince of Wales.

The new ambassador, he had sent to England, had made it clear that he had never given any orders to Chapuys after Queen Anne's death and before that, he never even hinted that she should be disposed of along with the babes she carried.

He fully condemned Chapuys' actions, not even attempting to beg for mercy on his servant's behalf. With his consent, both Chapuys and his accomplice Brereton were executed in July.

Henry would not think about marrying his son to neither the Emperor's daughters or nieces just yet. Charles had been a thorn in his and Anne's side for years so he would let the man sweat for a little while.

* * *

"Your Grace, I see that you have been welcomed back," George Boleyn greeted Charles Brandon coldly. "Alas not to your spot on the council but I suppose after what you said about my sister, you are lucky the king invited you back at all."

Charles tried to suppress the surge of anger he felt at the younger man.

Ever since Anne died, the Boleyns had become untouchable. As the relatives of the future king and the mother of that boy, they had the King's ear and there was no doubt that they would use his favor to their advantage.

Thomas Boleyn, the Duke of Kent, was now the president of the council with the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormonde had been made the Lord Protector of Ireland. The vacant position of keeper of the Privy Seal was given to Sir Henry Norris who was engaged to Anne's cousin Madge Shelton.

Mary Stafford nee Boleyn was now a countess with her son a baron. Her husband had become the steward of Ludlow with her cousin the Earl of Surrey was the de facto head of the council of the Welsh marshes.

It seemed that nearly all positions of power were being held by Boleyn relatives while the few that weren't were held by allies of Anne.

Catherine had just given birth to their son and that boy would become a courtier in a court run by Boleyns with a Boleyn king leading it. Charles prayed he would not live to see that day.

"I never meant to insult Queen Anne and I grieve her death," Charles said through gritted teeth, a strained smile on his face.

King Henry might have forgiven him but the Duke of Suffolk was aware that one wrong word would be enough to send exile him once again.

"We all do," George agreed, his eye still narrowed. "You come on a glorious day for not only is my niece two-years-old but today is the first day the Lady Mary has returned to court."

Charles nodded, knowing that the Boleyns weren't happy that Mary was back because it meant she could finally reconcile with her father. No, they were happy that she and her mother had relented and signed the oath. Now she was back at court where her father declared her hated stepmother as his true queen and wife and her half-siblings were his true heir.

She might not have to acknowledge Anne as queen thankfully but she was expected to call her half-siblings by the titles they had unknowingly stolen from her: Prince Ambrose of Wales and Princess Royal Elizabeth.

There had never been a Princess Royal before and Charles couldn't help but wonder if like her mother's Marquess of Pembroke title, one of the Boleyns suggested giving it to Elizabeth, making sure that no one could say she was less important than her older sister just on the off-chance Henry chose to reinstate her as a princess as she was born of a marriage made in good faith as he had heard the former Spanish Ambassador once suggest.

Queen Katherine would never return to court, to be restored to her former place as King Henry's wife but at least Mary had a chance to be a princess again. Unfortunately, with the Boleyns in power, that would never happen.

Charles could only hope that a woman would catch Henry's eyes eventually and she would become Mary's new champion. Even better perhaps she could turn the king back to the true faith and stop the Boleyns from corrupting the minds of the little prince and princess.

Then Anne Boleyn would truly be dead and forgotten as she deserved.

* * *

When Mary was allowed to come to court, she had been brought to her father's private audience chamber so they could talk alone before she reentered court. He made no mention of their previous fight, treating her kindly after she swore the oath in front of him, Cromwell, Rich and Audley.

As the festivities carried on, Mary fond herself standing alone until her father beckoned her over, getting up from his throne.

"Forgive me, daughter, but it has just occurred to me that there is a family member you have yet to meet. I think it's high time you met your baby brother," he remarked, smiling encouragingly at her. Honestly Mary would rather not ever laying eyes on Anne Boleyn's son but she knew she would have to act like she couldn't wait to meet her new brother. Extending his arm for her to take, King Henry turned to the other courtiers, making an announcement: "Lady Mary and I shall go visit her siblings. Please continue your merriment without us in the meantime."

Lady Bryan and Mistress Seville greeted them when they arrived at the nursery which Mary noted had double the amount of guards-considering what had happened months earlier she wasn't surprised that her father had chosen to post extra protection to avoid another would be assassin sneaking into the nursery.

"This is your brother, Ambrose, Mary," Henry introduced to her in a whisper so not to wake the sleeping baby. Elizabeth had been moved into a bed in a different chamber as she was becoming a big girl now and had outgrown sleeping in a crib.

Mary peered down at the baby, studying his features. He looked so much like Anne, for a fleeting moment, Mary wondered if Anne had not slept with a different man and was only passing the child off as her father's son as it was rumored she had done with Elizabeth. She wouldn't put it past the harlot make a cuckold out of her father.

But then, as if he had sensed her gaze and her doubt of his paternity, the little Prince of Wales opened his eyes and Mary could not deny those eyes were the shape and color of their father's eyes.

It was strange how Elizabeth looked so much like their father with her golden-red hair and yet had her mother's eyes. And yet Ambrose looked so much like his mother with their father's eyes.

Both of Anne's children took after her and yet at the same they both had something of Henry, not allowing Mary to say they were anything but her flesh and blood.

Her mother was right. It was over. Ambrose would be king one day and there was nothing she could do about it.

"He's a handsome boy, Papa," Mary said softly, a tearful smile on her face.

"Thank you, I know that you will be a good big sister to both him and Elizabeth, won't you sweetheart?"

"Yes, I will," Mary agreed firmly. She would not let her anger at Anne Boleyn stop her from loving her siblings. That was a promise she had made when she had first gone to Hatfield to wait on baby Elizabeth and she was not going to break that promise just because Ambrose had destroyed her chances for the throne. "They are my siblings just like Hal is and I love them for it."

"It makes me so pleased to hear that, my pearl," Henry told her gratefully, kissing the top of her head as he hugged her with one arm.

Mary smiled. At least now she had her father and mother back again and there was no chance she would be separated by either of them ever again.

* * *

_**January 30 1536** _

Queen Anne Boleyn had been dead for more than six months and Katherine of Aragon had just been buried (as the Dowager Princess of Wales of course).

Cromwell had thought now would be a good time to suggest a new bride for the king. After all, with both Queen Anne and Katherine of Aragon dead, the new queen could be a member of royalty without anyone being able to dispute their marriage.

Of course it might be more prudent to search for a wife amoung the Protestant Princes of Germany instead of a Catholic Princess who might try to influence her husband and stepchildren to return to the old faith.

However, if he hoped that he could persuade the king to marry again easily, he soon found out that he was very much mistaken.

"Anne has not even been dead a year and you dare ask me to marry again," Henry snapped. "Why would I need to marry again when I already have a healthy heir? Prince Ambrose will be a year old soon and he is as healthy as his sister is."

"That might very well be, Your Majesty but I think that it might not be wise to leave the Prince as your only heir. If you will forgive me, you are no longer a young man and I do not think it will be wise to wait a long time to sire a Duke of York," Cromwell said calmly.

He did not remind Henry of how his older brother Arthur had been a healthy child and then died when he was just a teenager. He also didn't point out that most children died in the early years of their life. Judging by Henry's expression, he highly doubted he needed to.

"I shall think about it," Henry decided with a sigh. Truthfully, he had missed the companionship of a sweet lady. But he still would not let anyone think that he was forgetting about Anne. "When the next monastery is closed down I want it to be turned into a school named after Queen Anne."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Cromwell said, a sad smile on his face. "But I don't think we need her works of charity to remind ourselves of her. All we have to do is look at Prince Ambrose and into the eyes of the Princess Elizabeth and it is as if she is alive again."

Henry grinned at him. "Well said, old friend."

He would have to marry again that was true especially when his two young children needed a mother but Anne would remain the queen of his heart.

* * *

_**January 31 1536** _

It was not a cold day in January so Henry decided to go hunting with a few of his friends. Unfortunately, it started drizzling and they had to seek shelter. The closest estate they could use for shelter was Wolf Hall.

"Sir John Seymour, my retinue and I thank you for letting us stay here for the time being," Henry said gratefully, clapping the older man on the back.

"Your Majesty, it is an honor to have you come into our humble home. I hope you will make yourself comfortable. If it pleases you to stay for supper, I shall see to it that the cooks prepare the finest meal they had ever made," Sir John proclaimed, looking all flustered at the king being in his home.

"Certainly. But first please introduce me to your lovely family," Henry commanded with good cheer.

His eye roamed over the people standing just a few feet behind Sir John still bowing and curtsying. But when his eyes landed on a petite blonde lady, he found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

He only listened as his host introduced his wife and sons with half an ear.

"…And my oldest daughter Jane Seymour," John continued, seemingly unaware that the king was staring at his daughter.

"Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you," the angel murmured, looking up at him through her eyelashes, sounding as though she was full of awe to meet him.

Henry could not help but smile at her, thinking how lovely and sweet she seemed.

"Lady Jane, I look forward to spending time with you," Henry murmured, taking her hand in his and kissing it chastely.

Delight sparkled in Jane's blue eyes and Henry could not help but think she looked like a picture of feminine modesty like the ones in the old tales of chivalric romance. A Queen Guinevere he could act like Sir Lancelot to.

Had he looked away from Jane Seymour, he would have seen the pleasure of the Seymours' faces as they began to hope that like the Boleyns their daughter would become England's next queen and cause their family to gain much.

His companions, Charles Brandon and Nicholas Carew exchanged a meaningful look with Edward Seymour. They were hoping that one of the Seymour sisters would catch the king's eyes and it seemed one of them had much she their delight.

Jane Seymour had grasped the King's attention and now she only needed to pull it away from the Boleyns. Above all, she needed to keep it long enough to sit on the throne and give birth to a legitimate heir.


	4. Still Missing Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being dead for over a year, Anne Boleyn is still there in more ways than one.

**_May 19 1536_ **

****

Five months had passed since Lady Jane Seymour had met the King of England. Within the weeks of meeting her King Henry had invited her family to court, sending her gifts as he did whenever he courted a mistress.

 

As Anne Boleyn did before her, Jane sent him those gifts back, refusing to lose her maidenhead to anyone but the man she married. And while her attitude endeared and excited the king, the nobles at court scorned her, accusing her of acting like Anne in hopes of becoming the next queen.

 

While it was true that her family especially her oldest brother often gave her instructions on the best course of actions and they certainly were eager for the royal favor that would come with being the next queen’s relatives, Jane admired King Henry and the thought of being his wife thrilled her.

 

She also wanted to reach out to the poor Princess Mary who despite being back in her father’s good graces was still called a bastard while everyone continued to pretend that her siblings were legitimate.

 

Jane was nothing like Anne Boleyn who had so cruelly bewitched the king into tearing his family apart. She had seduced him away from his true queen and poisoned his mind against the true faith.

 

Poor Queen Katherine had died in exile while her rival was hailed a hero for giving birth to a boy. It was so unfair and Jane hoped that she could set things right once she had married King Henry.

 

Even if she could not convince Henry that Ambrose and Elizabeth were bastards, at least she could raise them to be good Catholics, steering England back to the Flock of Rome. She would be a good stepmother to both of them as well as Mary.

 

All she needed was a chance to prove that she would be a better queen than Anne Boleyn could ever hope to be. 

* * *

 

The Duke of Kent grimaced as he watched the King ride over to Mistress Seymour, requesting to wear her favor on his lance. A request the little mouse was more than pleased to comply with.

 

He couldn’t help but sneer at the plain girl who could barely read or write. Compared to Anne, she was nothing more than a country bumpkin and yet this was the lady the king was so enamored with.

 

But then again, perhaps it would be a good thing if King Henry chose a wife who was less than Anne in every way. After all, it would not do Ambrose any good if his stepmother gave birth to strong heirs with royal blood that could be used to turn the English people against Ambrose.

 

According to Cromwell, the Seymours had signed the oath but they sympathized with the Lady Mary and the Catholic faction. While that was slightly unnerving, Mistress Jane Seymour was far too meek and uneducated to succeed in changing the King’s mind about the religious reform let alone the idea that the late Princess Dowager was his true wife and his daughter was truly the Princess of Wales. Despite the fact that Jane was not much of a threat, it still galled Thomas that his daughter would have such an unworthy successor and he was suspicious of the ambitious Seymour brothers. He would make sure to keep an eye on them, just in case there was any danger to his grandson.

 

Thomas turned back to the joust watching as King Henry and his opponent rode towards each other. Then to the horror of those watching, when the rival jouster’s lance hit the red-haired monarch’s shield, he fell off his house and onto the divider, hitting his head as he crashed to the ground.

 

For a moment everyone stood frozen in horror, unable to process what they had just seen. Then shocked gasps rippled through the crowd as men rushed towards their unmoving king.

 

“Is he dead?” Suffolk demanded kneeling at his friend’s side and removing his helmet to get a better look at him.

The king was pale and there was blood gushing from a cut on his forehead. He was so very still but when Boleyn put two fingers to his neck, he could feel a weak pulse. The red-haired monarch still clang to life but God only knew if he would survive that nasty fall.

 

Dr. Butts pushed through the crowd before making orders for people to carry the monarch into the pavilion so he could make his examination in private.

 

Thomas Boleyn followed close behind the men carrying the unconscious king and Dr. Butts, his thoughts racing.

 

If King Henry died, Ambrose would be declared king, despite only being a year old. His grandfather would be Lord Protector, fending off enemies that wanted to grab power from the Boleyns or worse wanted to put pretenders like the Lady Mary on throne, in hopes making England Catholic again.

 

No, it would be better for Prince Ambrose to grow past childhood before his father died, ensuring that the people of England loved him so much that they wouldn’t dream of accepting another ruler.

 

Of course it mattered little what Thomas Boleyn wanted to happen. If King Henry died, he would have to be prepared for the worst.

 

He would wait until Dr. Butts made his examination of the King and made a diagnosis about his health before deciding how to act but time was of the essence. When he it was time for him to act, he would have to act swiftly and decisively.

 

Anne was counting on him to protect her son and daughter and Thomas would die a thousand deaths before he let his daughter’s greatest sacrifice be in vain.

 

* * *

 

 

_King Henry found himself in front of Hever. He barely had time to question how he had been transported from Whitehall to Kent when he spotted Anne standing on the balcony, looking every inch the queen he remembered he as._

_Filled with elation, Henry raced inside and up the stairs, shouting his wife’s name until he had reached her._

_“Anne, my love, my queen,” Henry gushed, embracing her and kissing her lips passionately, relishing the familiar fire that he felt when he kissed her._

_“Henry,” Anne breathed once their lips had parted. Her forehead rested on his and her hands were around his neck. She closed her eyes as she practically melting into him. The moment only last for a few seconds. When she opened her eyes, they were as hard as ice and her next words were harsh and accusing. “I am truly still your love and queen when you have pledged yourself to another?”_  
  
_That broke the spell between them and Anne tore herself away from Henry’s arms, standing on the balcony again looking out below._

_“Anne, please, she is not you,” Henry assured her, reaching out to take her hand in his._

_“Of course, she’s not me, that’s why you chose her. She is such a meek and cautious creature. You’ll be tired of her within a week,” Anne spat cruelly. Then her face softened as she continued to stare outside. Henry followed her gaze and saw Elizabeth playing with Ambrose. “It is so unfair that I cannot be there with them. I neglected Elizabeth and I wasn’t even able to hold my sweet boy. I left them with few true supporters who will not turn on them. I have left them to always be viewed as the witch Anne Boleyn’s children, my legacy will taint them.”_

_  
“No,” Henry contradicted, grabbing her chin and forcibly turning her to look at him. “I promise you that our children will be protected by all who seek to harm them. Elizabeth is a true Princess and she is the cleverest little girl in the world. As for Ambrose, every day, I see more and more of you in him but he is a true Tudor Prince and someday he will be a king, I promise you, Anne. Ambrose and Elizabeth have the best parts of you. Your legacy did not taint them, it will make them strong.”_

 

_“Although it gladdens me to hear you says that, my love, I still fear that those who are closet to you, who you trust will betray them. There are vipers in your court, despite their loyalty to you, hate me and have no wish to allow our son to be King,” Anne whispered, her eyes widening as dark shadows crept closer to her children._

_“I won’t let them,” Henry growled, glaring down at the shadows, as if his gaze alone could paralyze them._

_“And what if they present you with a new heir, whispering poison about me in your ear, hoping to turn you against our son and daughter?” Anne asked._

_“Then they will die for being foolish enough to think that I would ever believe any lies about our children,” Henry insisted, scowling darkly, wondering if Ambrose continued to look like Anne would people start insinuating that his wife was unfaithful. “I love you Anne and I swear that just like none of her children will ever replace yours, Jane shall not replace you in my heart._

 

_Anne smiled briefly, resting her head on Henry’s shoulder as they watched Elizabeth and Ambrose playing together._

* * *

_Suddenly the scene melted away and Henry was standing in the middle of a courtyard, watching two teenaged boys sparing. One had the dark auburn hair Anne had while the other had blondish-red hair._

_At first the fight was friendly but then it became vicious and bloody._

_“Will you yield, brother!” the auburn-haired boy demanded._

_“I will never yield to the son of a whore!” the other one declared. “I am the true King of England not you.”_

_“Then you leave me no choice,” his brother snarled, rising the sword above his head and slicing the younger boy’s head off._

* * *

“NO!” Henry screamed as he woke up, horrified by his dream.

 

“Your Majesty, it’s all right. You’re alive,” his groom declared, sounding relived.

 

Henry didn’t even acknowledged him, too frazzled by his dream and what it could possibly mean.

 

It was obvious that the auburn-haired son was Ambrose which meant the younger boy could only be the future Duke of York, hopefully the son Jane would give birth to.

 

Was his dream an omen, warning him against marrying Jane?  No, surely not. Anne was just warning him that there were enemies at court, plotting to undermine Ambrose but there was no way Jane could possible be one of them.

 

She was such a good-natured woman whose favor had clearly saved him from dying when he fell off his horse. She expressed hope that he would bring all his children to court so she could meet them, a sure sign that she would be a loving stepmother. She was so honest and humble that she never once expected for him to give her anything, showing unfeigned surprise and delight whenever he gave her the slightest bit of attention.

 

While he had not being lying to Anne when he said that Jane would never replace her in his heart, he could not help but think Jane was just the sweet and kind queen he needed. A woman who would never dream of pushing her stepchildren away in favor of her own children.

 

That dream of the two half-brothers fighting would not come to pass. Henry would make sure of it.

* * *

It had been two hours since King Henry had fallen off his horse and yet still he lay unconscious.  Dr. Butts was unsure when he would wake up, although he remained hopeful that he would.

 

The Duke of Kent was already barking orders, commanding that his grandchildren be moved from Hatfield to Whitehall and that if the King was still unconscious tomorrow morning that an emergency privy council meeting be convened.

 

Charles Brandon grimaced, Henry was not yet dead and yet Boleyn already was acting as though his grandson was king already. He had not summoned Lady Mary to court despite it being her father who was so close to death and Charles shuddered at the thought of what plans the loathsome devil must have for her.

  
Would she die just a few days after her father under suspicious circumstances? No. Not even Thomas Boleyn could be that obvious.

 

Still Charles shuddered at the thought of Henry dying, leaving his country at the mercy of the Boleyns and Howards.  He prayed that the King would not die and he would marry Jane Seymour who hopefully would give him a trueborn son who one day would be king instead of his bastard half-brother.

 

“Brooding will do you no good,” Catherine pointed out, massaging his shoulders. “I doubt the Duke of Kent has any definite plans yet. If he did, I have no doubt that the Seymours would be sent packing. I think he’s simply making sure that his grandchildren are nearby so no one else can take them if the worst happens.”

 

“I know that he won’t do anything as long the King lives but that’s just it. Once King Henry dies and Prince Ambrose is made King, the Boleyns will take over and I fear what will happen to Princess Mary when they do,” Charles said with a sigh.

 

After her mother’s death, Princess Mary had few supporters willing to stand up for her. And while it was true that her father treated her kindly, he still was distant to her, something he was sure the Boleyns and the Howards were the cause of.

 

“The Seymours are on her side,” Catherine reminded him. “Once Jane Seymour marries the King, she can remove the hooks the Boleyns and Howards have in him and reconcile him and the Princess. Once she has a son, I’m sure King Henry will stop his insistence on honoring the harlot’s children.” 

 

“Not with Prince Ambrose. As long as he lives---don’t look at me like that, I would never harm a child,” Charles quickly added at Catherine’s scandalized face. He knew that the children were innocent even if their mother was not. “I’m just being a realist. As long as Ambrose lives, we will never be rid of her. He looks far too much like her for us for the King or the court to forget.” 

 

“He looks too much like her. After all, there are rumors that she has had lovers, perhaps he is the son of a musician or a poet,” Catherine suggested, her eyes lighting up in realization. She was honestly surprised that no one had thought of the possibility that Anne Boleyn had made King Henry a cockled before. But then again everyone was too wrapped up in the aftermath of her death.

 

There were rumors about Sir Thomas Wyatt, Henry Percy and Mark Smeaton, that they might be the Queen’s lover. It was known that the former two had courted Anne Boleyn and the latter spent far too much time in her rooms, hugging her, dancing with her and flirting with her.

 

“I’ve heard it suggested at one time that perhaps Ambrose is a full Boleyn,” Charles remarked, grimacing at the thought. Surely not even Anne could be so vile to sleep with her own brother.  “Unfortunately I am too fond of my head to even try and suggest that Ambrose is anything but the King’s son.”  
  
  
It hurt that Henry seemed to be almost suspicious every time Charles complimented Jane as though he was trying to figure out whether or not Suffolk was saying she was better than Anne.

 

Clearly although Henry adored Jane, Anne was still the forefront of his mind and Charles knew that if he dared even suggest that perhaps Ambrose looked far too much like Anne than he would if he was truly Henry’s son, he would find himself in the Tower of London.

 

Anne Boleyn was dead and yet it seemed that her presence was still felt no matter how hard some people tried to forget her.

 

“It has only been a year, my love. In a few years, her brat’s resemblance to her will be even more profound, good Jane Seymour will have had her son and the Boleyn’s control will start slipping. Then perhaps he’ll be more inclined to listen to reason,” Catherine said soothingly.  
  
  
After all, why would God grand the concubine a son that he had denied good Queen Katherine. Clearly there was something more sinister going on.

 

Before Charles could reply, a page ran inside the Duke and Duchess’ apartment, looking out of breath but overjoyed.

 

“The King is awake!” he announced.

 

Charles beamed at the boy, kissing his wife’s cheek before he ran to his friend’s side.

 

As he hurried past the servants, he thanked God that the disaster he feared would happen was avoided. King Henry was alive and well. The Dukes of Kent and Norfolk would not be in power and if Charles could help it, they would never get the chance to put their relative on the throne. 

 

Jane Seymour’s future son would save England from his half-brother eventually but for now Charles would just be happy that his friend had not died before his time, leaving a one-year-old bastard be hailed as a false king.

* * *

Meanwhile, miles away from court, unaware of the drama that was happening there, the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormond sat in his childhood home, looking out at the meadow where he and his sisters used to play.

 

“We were so innocent,” George said softly. “We were so carefree. We never knew what our future had in store for us.”

 

He often wondered if it was his fault. If he should have done more to protect both Anne and Mary. After he was their brother, even if he was younger than both of them. He was supposed to be their knight, protecting them from harm even if it came from their own father and uncle.

 

At least he still had Mary and at least he knew she was happy, leaving in her own estates thanks to her grieving brother-in-law. Thomas Boleyn had disowned her and now she didn’t even need him to take care of her. Perhaps her dislike of the court life made her the smartest of the three Boleyn siblings.

 

Lately George had been spending more time away from court. Spending time in his childhood home was painful but less so then listening to people pretend to be grieving his sister not to mention the sight of King Henry courting a new woman.

 

To be fair to the king, it was clear that he still loved Anne but George could not help but hate Jane Seymour for no other reason than the fact that she was to be his dear sister’s replacement.

 

Mary thought he was being petty. His father thought he should return to court as the king seemed more inclined to favor Anne’s siblings than her father and uncle. He was certain that George’s mere presence would stop Henry from favoring the Seymours if not Jane herself.

 

While it was true that King Henry always seemed to be filled with guilt whenever he spoke to Mary and George, neither of the Boleyn siblings were interested in using that to their advantage.

 

They were too busy trying to pick up the pieces left behind by Anne’s death.

 

George sighed, running a hand through his hair. He really needed to stop moping. Perhaps he should go back to court soon, before Elizabeth’s birthday at any rate. But for now he would stay here with Jane and the newest addition to the Boleyn family.

 

It had come as a surprise when Jane found out she was pregnant. After Anne’s death, George had found himself visiting his wife’s bed, finding her embrace comforting. When he learned she was pregnant, he was overjoyed and prayed that they would have a daughter.

 

While most men wished for sons, George hoped to have a daughter and not just because he was eager to annoy his father. She would be Lady Anne Boleyn. Although her cousin was also named Anne, George refused to call his daughter anything else.

 

Anne Boleyn: his sweet sister’s name would never be forgotten but just in case her niece’s name would be a reminder to all. 

 

“Your Grace? The Countess has delivered,” a servant called.

 

George blinked, having gotten so caught up in his own thoughts that he had forgotten that Jane was in labor at that very moment and he had only stepped outside, hoping that the cool and crisp spring air would soothe his nerves.

 

“And?” George prompted, eager to know if he had a daughter to honor his sweet sister.

 

“She has given birth to a son and a daughter, my lord,” the man replied, looking quite pleased to be giving this news.

 

The young Earl’s entire face lit up and he practically sprinted towards his wife’s bedchambers. He had been so somber in the months following his sister’s death and it was only the news that he would be a father that had given him a little bit of his jovial personality back.

* * *

 

Jane Boleyn smiled as her husband entered, tired by her long hours of labor but still just as happy as her husband was at their arrivals.

 

“It seems that the Lady Anne Boleyn has an older brother, husband,” Jane told him with no bitterness in her tone.

 

She had never hated Anne, although there were times when she envied the closeness the late queen had with George. However, she completely understood her husband’s wish to name his daughter after his sister.

 

“I suppose that because I named our daughter. It’s only right that you should name our dear son,” George decided as he studied the two bundles in Jane’s arms, not even daring to disturb them.

 

Jane knew better to suggest Thomas or Henry to her husband who still blamed his father, uncle and brother-in-law for Anne’s death.  Although her relationship with her husband had improved, she thought against naming him George, feeling that it would get rather confusing. However, giving him a unique name would make him stand out like his royal cousin.

 

“Why don’t we call him James?” Jane suggested, thinking that with his position as the Lord Steward of Ireland, it might be a good idea to remind everyone of George’s Irish heritage.

 

“Lord James Boleyn, Viscount of Rochford,” George remarked, beaming. “A good name. He will be his sister’s knight.”

 

  
“I’m sure he will be,” Jane agreed, hating the melancholy look on her husband’s face.

 

It wasn’t just Anne’s death, she knew that, it was also what he perceived as failure to truly act as his sister’s knight.

* * *

 

 

**_May 30 1536_ **

****

 

It had been nearly a fortnight since the King had recovered and yet he had not sent for her. This worried Jane as she feared that he believed that her favor had cursed him, blaming her for him falling off his horse and getting hurt.

 

She had heard little about his health, although she was relieved when she learned that he was recovering well. Still, she feared that the next time she heard anything from him, it would be by messenger, informing her father that she was to be banished from court, forbidden to ever be in the King’s presence again.

 

Jane had barely left her family’s apartments, not wanting to be among the courtiers who were no doubt judging and gossiping about her.  She relied on news from her father and brothers to learn what was going on.

 

Anne Boleyn’s bastards had arrived at court, having been sent for by the Duke of Kent while Henry was unconscious. According to Edward, while the King recovered his strength he had the children moved to a room in his apartments, spending most of his time with them away from the curious eyes of his courtiers. Very few people were allowed to see him during that time.

 

He had emerged from his apartments a few days ago, interacting with the court and walking in the gardens. But he still had yet to send for Jane and it worried her that the King had simply forgotten about her.

 

Then just two hours ago, Jane received a royal summons requesting her to make haste to the royal gardens. Filled with apprehension and excitement, Jane put on her best dress and jewelry before she made her way through the corridors to Henry’s private gardens.

 

“Jane, oh my sweet Jane,” Henry gushed, kissing the palm of her hand chastely. “I wanted to thank you for surely your favor saved me from my death.”  
  
  
“Your Majesty, I am so happy that you are alive and well. I was so afraid,” Jane admitted, feeling relieved that King Henry did not blame her.

 

“Nonsense, I am a still a strong man even if I am not as young as I used to be,” Henry told her, before frowning slightly at his own words, realizing his days of carefree youth were gone forever. But when he looked at Jane again, his expression lightened. “I have a question for you, Jane that I hope the answer will be yes. I have felt so alone since Anne died and my poor children need a mother. I wish to have another queen by my side and I want no other woman but you to fill that role. So, my dearest Jane, will you become my wife?”

 

Jane trembled in anticipation. She had been hoping for this moment for some time and now she was so overcome with emotions, that she could barely speak.

 

“Your Majesty, I am in awe and humbled by you. I would be honored to become your wife,” Jane replied, sending a silent prayer to good Queen Katherine that although she knew that she could never hope to fill her shoes, she would do her best to undo the wrongs wrought by Anne Boleyn.

 

“May I kiss you, Jane?” Henry asked, enjoying playing knight to his soon-to-be Queen Guinevere.

 

“Aren’t you the King of England?” Jane teased him playfully, fluttering her eyelashes as he leaned in, pressing his mouth onto hers.

 

The kiss only lasted several seconds but Jane felt weak in the knees as they pulled apart, her cheeks now rosy and she felt she was floating on air. However, she was abruptly pulled back to reality by the king’s next words.

 

“Come, I want to introduce you to the Prince of Wales and my little Princess, your future stepchildren,” Henry proclaimed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they walked from the garden back inside the castle.

 

* * *

 

Jane felt extremely nervous as Lady Margaret Bryan and Lady Anne Seville brought out Anne’s children.

 

She had never met Anne Boleyn but she heard that her eyes were like hooks for the soul. Elizabeth gazed at her with dark eyes that were almost clouded with suspicion. Jane wondered if Anne was gazing at her through her daughter.  

 

Despite not yet turning three, Elizabeth had the gravity of a much older woman as she curtsied and greeted Jane politely. She was clearly an intelligent child and she seemed to almost know instinctively that Jane was going to become her new mother, a prospect that she was not happy with.

 

Ambrose barely looked like the king and Jane half-wondered if the gossip was true until she met the toddler’s eyes and recognized that they were Henry’s eyes. Unlike his sister, he was not fazed by Jane’s presence and simply called out to his father to pick him up, ignoring Jane completely.

 

Henry obeyed his son’s command at once, picking him up, taking Elizabeth’s hand in his, bringing them both over to Jane.

 

“Children, I am quite pleased to introduce to you, Lady Jane Seymour, she’s going to be your mama,” Henry told them. “We all are going to be a family.”  
  
  
“Mama?” Ambrose asked, sounding confused, eyeing Jane curiously.

 

Just because Jane viewed Elizabeth and Ambrose as bastards, didn’t mean she couldn’t feel some sort of maternal love for her stepchildren. She took one of Ambrose’s hands and gently kissed it.

 

Perhaps she could be their mother, convincing them not to listen to the lies their Boleyn relatives would feed them, keep them away from following the dark path their mother followed.

  
But they were not the only motherless children of King Henry’s, Jane hoped to reach out to.

 

“Your Majesty, when we are married, I hope that I can invite your daughter, Mary back to court so your whole family can be united,” Jane suggested, smiling sweetly.

 

She would not try to coax him to legitimize Mary yet. For now she would work towards closing the gap between the king and his oldest daughter. 

 

“Lady Mary?” Elizabeth inquired, her eyes lighting up at the mention of the sister she had once seen everyday but now she only saw her every so often. “Oh can she come, Papa? I’ve missed her so and Ambrose barely even knows her.”  
  
  
Henry gave his daughter an indulging smile, stroking her red curls. “How can I refuse such a sweet request from a precious girl,” he murmured before turning his attention to Ambrose. “What say you, my boy, would you like to see Lady Mary?” He wondered if his oldest daughter who was surprisingly loving to Elizabeth was the same way to the boy she believed had stolen her title.

 

“Maree, Maree!” Ambrose exclaimed in delight, clapping his hands.

 

“Well if my children insist, then I shall have a messenger be sent to Auckland Castle immediately,” Henry declared, before he started tickling Ambrose, causing the toddler to burst out in giggles while his sister “tried to help him” by trying to tickle Henry himself.

 

The King pretended to collapse on the ground as he grabbed both his children in a bear hug.

 

Jane wounded if Henry had forgotten about her completely. Despite the adorableness of the scene, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy at how devoted King Henry was to them to the point where she wasn’t sure he would have agreed to bringing Mary to court if Elizabeth and Ambrose hadn’t made their feelings plain.

* * *

 

**_June 3 1536_ **

****

 

Lady Mary arrived at Whitehall and was greeted by the Duke of Suffolk who graciously led her to her apartments at court. She felt a small sense of melancholy as she walked down these halls, noticing not for the first time how the H&As were still chiseled onto the walls.

 

She wondered if after her father’s new marriage, would the As be replaced by Js just as her mother’s Ks were. After all, it was clear that King Henry still grieved Anne Boleyn and barely gave a second thought to Katherine of Aragon who was his wife for much longer than he pretended to be married to her stepmother.

 

After her mother’s death, Mary had been so despondent that she had not even wanted to leave the More and return to court, politely denying her father’s invitations, something that clearly irked him especially when her depression caused her to miss her brother’s first birthday celebration.

 

The next time he sent her a summons to court, he made it clear that he would not tolerate her refusal this time. He also stressed that he and her siblings missed her greatly and his fiancée wished to meet her.

 

“I’m glad that you are back at court, my lady, I hope you will join my wife and I when we sup sometime,” Charles told her kindly.

 

“I would like that,” Mary agreed. “Tell me, Uncle, what do you know of this Lady Jane Seymour?”

 

“I know that she is once served your mother and she has pity for your plight,” Charles explained, eyeing her ladies who were unpacking her things. Considering, her chief lady was the cousin of Anne Boleyn, it was only natural that he would suspect that she might be spying on Mary for her relatives.

 

Although Mary trusted Madge Norris completely, she was far too earnest to be a spy, she could understand Suffolk’s unease and decided to send her off on an errand.

 

“Madge, would you mind going to the nursery and finding out whether or not my siblings are currently napping,” Mary ordered, smiling at the woman who had been a comfort during the months after her mother’s death, even assuring the former princess that she would remain in her household despite pressure from her uncle to join the future queen’s household. “If they are not, I shall like to see them as soon as I change out of my traveling clothes.”  
  
  
Lady Madge curtsied, before hurrying out of the chambers and towards the nursery. With that, Mary led Charles to two chairs, a few feet away from her ladies, hopefully out of earshot.

 

“From what I hear from her brothers, Lady Jane has Catholic sympathies and is eager to see you reinstated as Princess,” Charles continued in a low voice. “She hopes to convince your father not to exclude you from court.”  
  
  
“Oh? Is that what people think? That my father has been shunning me?” Mary asked, her brow furrowed. From the taken aback expression on the Duke of Suffolk’s face, it was clear that he believed it and Mary had no doubt that he assumed the Boleyns and the Howards were responsible. It was understandable and quite honestly, Mary would have thought it to if she wasn’t aware that the only reason she hadn’t gone to court was because she could barely make an effort to get out of bed in the morning let alone be surrounded by people who cared more for Anne Boleyn than Katherine of Aragon. “In truth, my father has invited me to court several times in the past few months, I have just not wanted to go.”  
  
“Oh,” Charles said, unsure what to sat to that. He noticed that her eyes were welling up and he realized instantly the truth of why Mary had not been going to court. He felt a rush of annoyance that Henry had not told him---he might just be her uncle by marriage but Mary was still his niece---but then again, knowing Mary, she might not have explained why and that was why Henry seemed to be growing distant towards his daughter, taking her refusal as a snub. However, if Charles’ daughters refused to come see him for their own birthday, nothing would have stopped the duke from riding to their side especially if their birthday was a month after their mother’s death.

 

“I’m pleased that Lady Jane will be a good stepmother,” Mary remarked, delicately changing the subject. “I hope she knows that I’m just as eager to meet her as she is to meet me.”  
  
  
“Of course, she will be,” Charles assured her before adding: “I hear that your sister and brother are equally excited to see you.”  
  
  
He had spoken to Edward Seymour who had heard from Jane about the conversation in nursery. Jane had been a little upset because she felt that the King had only said yes to her suggestion because of Ambrose and Elizabeth.

 

Although she was a little put-out that, her word did not seem to carry as much weight as two toddlers, Charles was pleased. His biggest fear was if Ambrose did ever become King, Mary would be killed either by poison or by the executioner’s blade. If her brother loved her than perhaps, he could keep her safe from whatever his grandfather and uncle plotted to do to her.

* * *

Meanwhile George Boleyn walked into his father’s study, looking rather annoyed.

 

“Why in hell is that silly chit asking my wife to be her lady-in-waiting?” he demanded. 

 

“Because Margery Horseman spoke of how much you two fought,” Thomas replied, not even looking up from the papers he was signing. “I also have also repeated some of your old complaints about her in Thomas Seymour’s hearing.”  
  
  
George sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, he agreed that they would need spies among Jane Seymour’s ladies. Mary and cousin Madge would have been too obvious. Margery Horseman at least was not known to be Anne’s friend and because she was in the Dowager Princess Katherine’s household until it was reestablished for Anne, she could lie and say that she never stopped being loyal to Katherine. As for Jane, despite giving birth to twins, it was not well known that she had grown closer to her husband during the dark months he had lost his sister.

 

“God, what was the King thinking? He wants to marry that pale wrench who is as dull as she is plain,” George jeered, pacing back and forth. “I hear she wants Ambrose and Elizabeth to call her Mama. How dare she try to replace Anne! She isn’t good enough to serve Anne let alone take her place.”

 

If Thomas noted the hypocrisy of George saying that when plenty of people said the same about Anne, he said nothing. He just fixed his son with a rather nonplussed look.

 

“George, stop acting like a sulky child when there are more important things for us to deal with. There is nothing we can do about Jane Seymour presently. Anne is dead. The King has chosen to take a new wife. All we can do is protect Elizabeth and Ambrose. We must do what’s best for their interests,” Thomas declared.

 

George’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you mean your interests, Father,” he snarled.

 

The Duke of Kent kept his face completely measured, not taking the bait.

 

“I’m surprised that my grandson’s name is James. I expected you to name him Mark or William or John just to spite me,” he remarked, grimacing. He was of course not at all surprised by the choice of his granddaughter’s name.

 

“Jane picked it.”

 

“Ah, that explains it,” Thomas commented, his lips twitching upwards before looking back down to his work. George was about to leave when he heard his father speak again: “This might surprise you but I miss her too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles for all his faults, is more disliking how much power Thomas Boleyn has rather than him hating Ambrose and Elizabeth.  
> Mary is suffering from a bit of depression because it felt like she just got her mother back only to lose her again this time for good. However, only she, her household and Henry knew that he was inviting her to court, leaving everyone else to assume that Henry was excluding her.  
> I know my readers will disagree but I actually feel a little sorry for Jane. Henry is still in love with Anne and part of the reason he's marrying Jane is to give his children a mother and that's gotta sting a little.


	5. The Birth of a Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Boleyn continues to muse on his life as he loses another family member. George continues to act childish until his father gives him a new directive. Mary comes to terms with her lot in life unknowingly around the same time her father decides to look into getting her a husband so she may start her own family. The Seymores gain an important chess piece in their battle against the Boleyns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good God, guys, I am so sorry. I just couldn't get this chapter out. I was constantly deleting and rewriting and until finally I finished it. I am so sorry for the wait. I shall try my hardest never to take so long to update again.

**_February 18 1537_ **

****

Mistress Ursula Missledon was not at court long before she became a mistress to two men. Scarcely anyone but her fiancé cared about her tryst with Sir Francis Bryan. But nearly everyone was whispering about her affair with the King.

 

Some laughed at poor Queen Jane Seymour who had thought she would be different from his last two wives and Henry wouldn’t stray from her. Others wondered if King Henry was frustrated that she had not gotten pregnant yet and like that’s what drove him to seek pleasure elsewhere.

 

There were a few whispers that Ursula reminded the red-haired monarch of the late Anne Boleyn. The Earl of Ormond could barely hold back his scoff when he learned of that rumor. 

 

“Aside from vaguely resembling her appearance, how does that slut remind anyone of my sister who would never be any man’s mistress,” George snarled. Anne had never laid with the King before their marriage and it was an insult for her to be likened to the red-haired monarch’s current mistress. Perhaps he was being overly sensitive but now that Anne was gone, she could no longer defend herself, leaving George to protect her reputation for her.

 

“Careful cousin, that’s my future wife you are talking about,” Francis scolded him lightly, sounding rather amused than offended. “And I will have you know that she does share a certain outspokenness with your late sister.”  
  
  
“Your future wife,” George repeated with his eyebrow raised as he gave his cousin an incredulous. “I thought she was engaged to Sir Taverstock.”  
  
“She was. Alas he never learned how to share and therefore has decided to break things off with her. His loss, however, was my gain,” Francis replied with a wolfish grin, licking his lips as he was no doubt picturing his future wife.

 

George was rather unsure what to say to that so he excused himself, deciding to seek out his wife instead listening to this bizarre situation. 

 

He found her standing with a couple of Queen Jane’s ladies-in-waiting. He caught her eye before walking to their rooms where they could talk in private, knowing she would be close behind.

 

“Tell them I’ve gone to write a letter to my children’s governess,” Jane whispered to Margaery Horseman before she left the group of ladies to follow her husband to their chambers.

 

No excuse would have had to be made if George had just come up and demanded to speak to her in private as he was her husband and no one would expect Jane to disobey him.

 

In truth this excuse was merely made just on the off-chance that one of the Queen’s sisters got suspicious that she had disappeared minutes after her husband had left. Writing a letter to her children’s governess was plausible enough to avoid the interrogation that the two girls might have subjected her to otherwise.

 

Margery nodded and Jane left the group of gossiping woman, making her way through the corridors to the apartments, King Henry had personally given to the Boleyns, wanting to make sure the family of his beloved late queen were honored.  

 

* * *

 

“How fares the Queen?” George asked mockingly the minute she entered. “Is she pleased that the King has sent the Prince and Princess away?”  
  
  
“Christmastide is over, George, and it was time for them to go to their one residence,” Jane reminded him, giving him a look of exasperation. “Princess Elizabeth and Prince Ambrose will be back at court in April just as they were last year.” 

 

 

“And you don’t think it is a coincidence that their stepmother decided that they should not be at court for the Lady Mary’s birthday,” George snapped as he poured himself a glass of a wine.

 

 

“The Queen thinks that it would be unpleasant for them to moved around so much considering they just left to go back to Hatfield,” Jane explained. “Besides she wants her stepdaughter’s birthday to be just about the Lady Mary and the King obviously agreed with her.”

 

“Oh whose side are you on?” George grumbled, throwing Jane a sulky look that she recognized as a look their son gave her when she refused to let him play with her necklace.

 

“Yours, you silly man. I am just keeping my ears open for the actual insults instead of your petty grievances,” Jane scolded him, trying hard not roll her eyes in exasperation at her husband’s childish pouting.

 

While she had no doubt Queen Jane was trying to exclude Mary’s half-siblings, she knew there was not much they could do about it when the King had agreed that the two toddlers should stay at Hatfield until April. It was better to keep her ear to the ground and wait until something less trivial was said. When treason was actually spoken, Jane would have no problem informing her husband so they could bring it to the King’s attention.

 

“Dear God since when did I get turned on by your forked tongue,” George wondered.

 

Years ago, Jane had irritated him and he thought she was a nagging shrew but ever since Anne died and his wife had comforted him, it was like he saw a different side to her. And now what he had once found annoying were now endearing and exciting.

 

“Perhaps since I found ways to use my tongue to pleasure you,” Jane laughed, giving him a sultry look.

 

But before her husband could throw her on their bed and ravish her, they were interrupted by a messenger saying that he had an urgent message from his cousin the Earl of Ossory. After dismissing the page rather heatedly, George tore open the envelope so he could read the contents quickly.

 

 

“Dammit all,” George growled, glaring down at the letter. “According to my cousin, there has been some civil unrest in Ireland and they want the Lord Deputy of Ireland to intervene.”

 

 

“Well that is your job, dear,” Jane reminded him dryly. A small part of her wanted to add that he was lucky than most Lord Deputies of Ireland as they lived in Ireland and could not pass their job off to their cousin. But then again King Henry had wanted to keep Anne’s siblings close by. Besides she would rather not aggravate him and risk spoiling their moment. “Duty calls and you must answer.” She then stroked his cheek and added in a sultry voice: “Of course no one would blame you for tending to martial duties first.”  
  
  
George licked his lips and smirked at her. “Of course they would not.” 

 

With that, they moved their conversation to their bed.

 

* * *

 

When the Lady Mary had returned to court all those months ago, King Henry had questioned Henry Norris about why his daughter had rejected his previous requests and upon learning about how depressed Mary had been after her mother died, the King decided that staying at the More was doing her more harm than good. He gave Mary permanent lodgings at court, something that thrilled the queen.

 

Despite being the cousin of the previous queen, Madge had no hard feelings towards Jane Seymour.  However, she couldn’t help but marvel in the differences between Anne and the King’s new wife.

 

Anne adored French fashion and was quite a social butterfly, she liked to have a happy household, entertaining courtiers in her apartments, allowing her ladies freedom to flirt with handsome suitors. Jane, on the hand, had all her ladies dressed in demure English styled clothes, preferred the quieter activities like sewing and according to Margery, she preferred to spend time sewing and if she had gatherings, she would not dance unless the King wished to dance with her.

 

Jane and Anne were as different as day and night. However they both had one very similar flaw: they both assumed that because they were the King’s wife, they would be able to convince him to do what they thought was right.

 

“It is certainly kind of her to say she will speak for you, my lady, but I don’t want you to have false hope,” Madge began, rather nervously. Mary had just come from a meal with her stepmother and had asked Madge if she thought Jane could really convince her father to reinstate her. “If I may be blunt, King Henry is not the sort of man to admit he made a mistake even if it didn’t involve disinheriting his son.”

 

Mary sighed, wishing that Madge’s words didn’t make sense. Honestly if she hadn’t known Madge for so long and hadn’t specifically asked for her opinion, Mary would have thought the older woman was simply trying to spoil her good mood. Unfortunately, she couldn’t even convince herself that her lady didn’t have a point.

 

“On her deathbed, my cousin asked him to love his daughters as much as he loved their son. The result of that was simply to reunite you with your mother and give you your own household,” Madge continued sadly. “I don’t think there is much else he’d be willing to do for you. Although I know he loves you very much and I’m sure His Majesty is just as happy to have you at his side as you are to be with him.”

For nearly two years, she had served as Mary’s chief lady and had treated her with nothing but kindness, taking the poor motherless former princess into her heart, counting her as a dear friend.

 

If King Henry was willing to least say Mary was born from a marriage in good faith and therefore was a princess---allowing her to be ahead of Princess Elizabeth but behind Prince Ambrose in the line of succession---Madge would be happy for her, pleased that at least Mary got a piece of what she had lost through no fault of her own.

 

“Are you sure she meant me?” Mary asked, causing Madge to furrow her brow in confusion. “Your cousin. You said she spoke of me on her deathbed. Forgive me but I am having trouble believing she would waste her breath on me.” _Unless it was to curse me._ She added silently, keeping her expression neutral.

 

“Well I only heard this secondhand but I believe Anne said your daughters and considering you are the only other daughter King Henry has, I cannot think of anyone else she could have meant,” Madge remarked, studying Mary’s face, wondering if the mere mention of Anne’s name would upset her.

 

 

Mary bit her lip and closed her eyes briefly as she tried to keep her emotions in check. The idea that her father had only shown her kindness because of her stepmother---the woman she blamed all her troubles on---was a harrowing feeling and the worst part was she knew it was true.

 

Her father had stripped her of her title, made her a servant to her half-sister and ignored her for years, only to decide to visit her the day after his concubine died. Then after arguing with her, he still allowed her to go live with her mother instead of punishing her harshly for speaking out against Anne and her children.

 

She had wanted to believe that he had softened and was treating her kindly because of his love for her. No. He did love her, she was sure of that but it was only because of Anne that he was being kind to her and that thought completely shattered her heart.

 

* * *

 

 

“I feel old, Charles. My daughter has turned twenty-one today. I am an old man,” Henry complained as he dropped down onto his chair, a claret in one hand as he let out a heavy sight.

 

“Perish the thought for if you are old than I must be ancient,” Charles remarked, shooting his friend a grin. “At least we still have our looks.” The Duke of Suffolk decided to refrain from mentioning how Henry seemed to have put on a little weight over the years. He then sobered as he remembered something “Frances is due to make me a grandfather this year. How terrifying is that? Me: A grandfather.”

 

Henry sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. Out of his four children, only Hal Fitzroy was married but he had passed away last May which had been a devasting blow to his father, mother and wife. The boy had not had a chance to become a father before he died which was even worse.

 

“Well I’d hate for you to go through that alone,” Henry jested, looking pensive. “Perhaps I should start looking into marriages for Mary.”

 

“I’m sure she would be more than happy to begin a family of her own,” Charles agreed, looking all too pleased that his friend was thinking of his oldest daughter. The fact that he had agreed to not invite Anne Boleyn’s brats to court showed that if nothing else, he wanted her to be happy, something he had not thought of until after the whore had died, proving it was only for Anne that he was willing to treat his daughter so terribly.

 

“She would. I think I shall ask Cromwell to start looking into a husband for my pearl,” Henry decided, a determined glint in his eyes.

 

“If I may, Your Majesty, the Imperial Ambassador suggested Luís of Portugal, Duke of Beja,” Charles reminded the King. “Would he not be a worthy husband for the Lady Mary?”

 

Luis was the younger brother of the King of Portugal, therefore making it unlikely that he would become king, something the Boleyns would have brought up. He was also the nephew of Mary’s mother and Catholic, two factors that would Mary quite pleased even if she still hoped to become a queen.

 

Besides if worse came to worse and the Boleyn’s brat became King of England with no legitimate half-brothers to save England from the wrongful heir, the English people would be more accepting of Mary and her foreign husband as long as he was no threat to their independence.

 

Henry frowned at the mention of the Imperial ambassador, thinking of the crimes of his predecessor.  Although the Emperor had agreed to marry his younger daughter to Prince Ambrose, the relationship between Spain and England was still strained at best. However Portugal and England had been friends for more than a hundred years and despite being Emperor Charles’ relatives, they had never been hostile to England, smartly keeping out of such affairs.

 

Still it might be more prudent to look for a husband of the reformed faith for Mary, simply to keep her away from her Spanish cousin’s plotting.

 

“You have given me much to think about, Charles, not bad for an old man,” Henry teased causing Charles to give him an over the top offended look.

 

“Your Majesty, I beg of you, do not say such things,” Charles laughed, clapping Henry on the back before raising his glass prompting Henry to do the same. “To our health that continues to be good despite our age.”  
  
  
“And to the health of our children,” Henry agreed as they clinked their glasses before drowning the wine.

 

Henry added a silent prayer that God would help him and Jane conceive a Duke of York before he became a grandfather, further securing his dynasty so Ambrose would not be under the pressure he had been to have a healthy son.

* * *

Mary sat beside her father in a chair beside his throne while Jane sat on his other side.

 

“How are you, daughter?” Henry asked, patting her hand. “Well?”  
  
“I am, Father,” Mary replied, giving him a smile, trying not to think of what her lady had told her and doubt that her father truly cared.

 

“Good because I have a surprise for you,” Henry told her, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He snapped his fingers at one of his grooms, signaling that it was time to bring in the surprise.

 

Moments later the great ornate doors of the Great Hall were opened and Princess Elizabeth walked in, beaming as she held a small bundle of fur in her arms. Behind her, Prince Ambrose walked slowly, grasping a bouquet of flowers tightly in his cubby hands as he tried to keep up the pace with his older sister.

 

Some of the onlookers looked aghast at seeing the Prince and the Princess, others smug. However Mary cared not for the political implications of her father refusing to make her birthday be just about her.

 

Although she knew her stepmother had good intentions, she couldn’t help but feel that by isolating Ambrose and Elizabeth from their father, she was doing the same thing Anne had done to Mary.

 

Not to mention while Ambrose might not realize that he was being excluded, poor Elizabeth would have and Mary had not liked the idea of her young sister being told she could not come to her sister’s birthday feast, knowing how hurt Elizabeth would have felt.

 

Besides, she could guess that her half-siblings had not been brought to court to be shown off but instead her father had thought it would make a nice surprise if after being told that Elizabeth and Ambrose were not coming to court to celebrate her birthday, they arrived bearing gifts. 

 

 

“Happy birthday, sister,” Ambrose lisped as he presented the roses to her. “There were no Tudor roses.”

 

“You did well, my son,” Henry assured him, not wanting to hurt Ambrose’s feelings by informing him that the Tudor rose was actually not a real rose but instead a combination of the rose of the House of York and the Rose of the House of Lancaster, symbolizing the unification of the once feuding houses.

 

“They are beautiful, Ambrose,” Mary complimented the flowers as she opened her arms for the boy to place them into. “Thank you so much. I shall make sure they are put in a vase in my chambers.”

 

One of her ladies stepped forward for Mary to give her the roses so she could do as her mistress instructed.

 

Elizabeth had been trying to hush the now awake and barking puppy in her arms. Mary was unsure how she managed to keep her dignity as she presented the puppy who was trying to lick her face.

 

“Happy birthday, sister,” she repeated her brother’s words but in Spanish instead of English. “Lady Seville’s dog had three puppies and I wanted all three of us to have one. Do you like him?”

 

Mary could not help but beam at her sister, clapping her hands in delight that Elizabeth was speaking her mother’s native tongue, a gesture that melted her heart even more than the puppy that was now in her arms.

 

“Oh he is a darling boy. I think shall call him, Ajax,” Mary decided, kissing the top of his head. It was a bit harder for her to give him up than it had been with Ambrose’s flowers but she knew that having a puppy in the Great Hall would be a nuisance. “Thank you so much, sister.”

 

 

She pulled her siblings into a hug and was mildly surprised when Ambrose chose to climb up onto her lap so he could hug her better.

 

Her father chose this moment to pick up Elizabeth so she could be on his lap.

 

“Joyeux son famille,” he proclaimed, gesturing to his wife and children on the dais. At his declaration, the courtiers applauded. Henry leaned over to Mary. “I take it, you liked your surprise, my pearl.”  
  
  
“I did, Father, and I liked their surprise as well,” Mary told him, tickling Ambrose as she spoke.  
  
  
“It was very sweet,” Jane agreed, smiling softly. If she was put out by the fact that her husband had not informed her of his plans beforehand or that he had not left Ambrose and Elizabeth at Hatfield instead of summoning them to court like she had suggested, she did not show it.

  
  
Henry was so wrapped up in quizzing his daughter to see how fluent she was in Danish, that he didn’t acknowledge his wife’s words with anything more than a distracted nod of his head.

 

Jane sighed, her brother was right. There was only one way for her to get the King’s attention away from his bastards: she needed to give birth to a son.

  
She glanced at Prince Ambrose, wondering how he would react if she had a son. Would he view that his half-brother, who was far more legitimate than him, was an enemy and treat him as such? 

  
The sweet innocent child looked so harmless now and perhaps he would greet any half-sibling with love and affection. But once he grew older, the Boleyn poison might change him, making him a bloodthirsty tyrant willing to destroy his own flesh and blood in order to safeguard his throne.

 

 Despite the warmth of the room, Jane shivered.

* * *

 

**_May 3 1537_ **

****

Bad news always came in three. First there was the King deciding he would marry off his wretched older daughter. Then his daughter-in-law expressed a belief that the Queen was with child and now, it seemed that two years after losing his daughter, he was to lose his wife.

 

She had been well when she had gone to be witness to the marriage between her half-brother and the Dowager Queen of Scotland’s daughter, Margaret but when the Duchess of Kent returned home to Hever, her health began to deteriorate to the point where she was too sick to go to the celebrations of Prince Ambrose’s second birthday.

 

The minute she learned of her mother’s illness, Mary had gone to Hever, thankfully leaving her husband behind to tend to their estates. Thomas guessed that she had not wanted to miss saying goodbye to her mother as she had with her sister.

 

Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself as he noted that his three children had given him an equal number of grandsons as they had with granddaughters with only Mary having more than two.

 

Each of his grandchildren represented a different time in his life.

 

Catherine Carey was long suspected to be the King’s illegitimate daughter as her mother’s time as King Henry’s mistress had overlapped with her marriage to Sir William Carey. Because of her mother’s dalliance with the King, Thomas was no longer seen as a simple ambassador or as the Duke of Norfolk’s brother-in-law, his favor with the King was growing quickly.

 

She was now a girl of thirteen, blossoming quickly into womanhood. She was currently engaged to Sir Francis Knollys, a knight of little note but one who had strong Protestant convictions and was slowly gaining the King’s favor. Thomas could not help but think that in many ways his granddaughter was repeating her grandmother’s story. Hopefully, it would end happier.

 

Henry Carey, the Baron of Hudson was born in 1526. By the time he was born, his mother’s affair with King Henry was long over and it was his aunt who the king was chasing after. In the months before his birth, his grandfather had become the Earl of Ormond and the Viscount of Rochford. Thomas had been pleased to have his first grandson but was already dreaming of next grandson one would be the next Prince of Wales.

 

Little Hal was not yet eleven but Thomas hoped that he would have the Boleyn ambition that both of his parents lacked. As the future King’s cousin, he would hopefully be one of Ambrose’s closet companion and friend. Although, he was just a baron, Thomas would find him a wife of good breeding.

 

The soon to be three-year-old Annie Stafford was the reason why her mother’s secret marriage was found out. Thomas had been furious when he learned of his eldest daughter’s foolishness. Mary was the sister of the Queen and yet she had chosen to shame her family by marrying a mere solider, a man who wasn’t even a gentleman let alone a man of nobility. Mary had been banished along with her new husband and children, disowned by all but her sister. Perhaps that was why she named her daughter Anne after the woman who despite her own anger at Mary’s action had still sent Mary money whenever she needed it.

 

Annie Stafford was now the daughter of a viscount and when her cousin turned six, she would be sent to Hatfield as Elizabeth’s companion. Perhaps she would accompany Elizabeth when the Princess went to Denmark and she could marry a Danish noble who take care of her for the rest of her days also allowing her to stay be her cousin’ side when she became Queen of Denmark and Norway.

 

Edward Stafford was the only grandson, Thomas barely knew anything about. He was born in March of last year. Although his father was now a viscount, Thomas was still reluctant to see the children of the marriage he had not approved of. But that mattered little as the boy would someday outrank his older half-brother and like his sister, he would be a childhood companion of Ambrose.

 

God willing, the future Viscount of Bindon would rise above his low birth and make his family proud.  

 

  
Princess Elizabeth’s birth had been a disappointment. Everyone was so sure she would be a son and it didn’t matter how clever and beautiful she was. Her birth had caused Anne and the Boleyns to begin to lose favor. As much as he loved his royal granddaughter--- and despite what many thought, he loved her just as much as he loved her brother--- Thomas knew that if she had been a boy, the English people would have accepted her over her half-sister, the French King would not have snubbed her and King Henry would have not started to loose his affection toward his wife.

 

Despite this, Thomas was fully aware that his granddaughter was a remarkable girl who would no doubt be a magnificent queen. If Anne could see her, she would be proud of her daughter.

 

Prince Ambrose had been his mother’s savior and it was only by a cruel twist of fate that she had died giving birth to him. He was the Boleyns' triumph and he had secured his mother’s family’s fortunes just by continuing to thrive.

 

Jane Seymour could birth a thousand sons but they would not be able to live up to neither Elizabeth nor Ambrose. Through them, the Boleyns'---no. Through them, Anne’s legacy would never die.

 

James Boleyn, the third Viscount of Rochford would be one-year-old in a fortnight. The third and youngest of Thomas’ grandsons. For years, Thomas had waited for grandson to carry his surname and while he wished George had named him for his grandfather, Thomas was still pleased that his grandson would inherit a dukedom instead of just an earldom.

 

His sister both pleased and saddened their family. Like her cousin, she was named after her queenly aunt but unlike Annie Stafford, no one could say the name Anne Boleyn without immediately thinking of the Queen. While Thomas had put off looking for a bride for James (as of yet, there were no girls suitable for a future duke), he was certain that the Earl of Lincoln would be a good match for his granddaughter that is if he could convince the impossible Duke of Suffolk to look past his prejudice.

 

George’s children were both born a year after Anne’s death. They were a reminder of how far the Boleyns had risen and of who they lost along the way.

 

“Your Grace, the priest is finished performing your wife’s last rites,” the doctor announced, bringing Thomas out of his thoughts.

 

Thomas let out a heavy sigh as he walked to his wife’s room, his chains of office felt heavy enough to choke the life out of him.

 

Her chambers smelled like death and Thomas could hear his daughter weeping in another room. Elizabeth Boleyn lay on her bed, looking sickly and pale.

 

 _Was this how Anne looked?_ Thomas wondered as he kneeled by his wife’s side, taking her hand in his. He had not---he could not---be in the bedroom where his youngest daughter took her last breath. George already hated him, he wasn’t sure he could live with himself if Anne died, with the same blame in her eyes as she gazed at him for the last time. 

 

“Anne,” Elizabeth breathed, looking past Thomas to the edge of the bed. “You look like an angel.”  
  
  
“She is an angel,” Thomas remarked, glancing at where his wife was looking, half-hoping he could get a glimpse of his daughter.  

 

“I’m going with her,” Elizabeth murmured.

 

“I know you are. I wish I was going with you. But my time on Earth is not up yet and I must make sure our grandchildren are secure before I go,” Thomas whispered, rubbing soothing circles on his wife’s hand.

 

“Don’t take too long, Thomas, Anne misses you greatly,” Elizabeth told him softly as her eyes fluttered shut.

 

When Anne died, Thomas had kept his composure, unwilling to break down and cry as his wife and children did. But at his wife’s deathbed, the Duke of Kent could not stop the tears flowing down his wrinkled cheeks.

* * *

 

**_October 12 1537_ **

****

King Henry was devasted upon learning that his mother-in-law had died. Not only had his children’s grandmother died but also the woman who had so bravely protected them from that vile murderous former groomsman of his.

 

He given both the Duke of Kent and the Duke of Norfolk permission to retire to Hever so they could make the funeral arrangements and execute her will. Thomas Cromwell would act as his proxy to her funeral.

 

Ambrose and Elizabeth were far too young to understand what death meant. However they were still devastated by the notion of their beloved grandmother never coming back that it was a relief to be able to share good news by announcing that their stepmother would soon be giving them a younger brother.

 

Jane’s pregnancy had soothed the pain of losing the Duchess of Kent, at least for Henry, Elizabeth and Ambrose. Henry was pleased at the prospect of being a father again while his children were happy to be welcoming another member to their family.

 

But when Jane went into labor, Henry started thinking of that fateful April when Anne had such a difficult pregnant that she had lost too much blood. Was he cursed to lose his third wife the same way?

 

That thought terrified Henry. Losing Anne had been painful enough but if he lost Jane too he wasn’t sure if he could bear it.

 

Dorothy and Elizabeth Seymour took turns giving Henry reports of Jane’s progress and the red-haired monarch feared that they would give him the news that something had gone wrong and he would lose either Jane or the baby or even worse both.

 

Finally at two o’clock in the morning, Elizabeth Seymour came out of the birth chambers, beaming proudly. She barely had time to say anything before King Henry blew past her.

* * *

“It’s a boy, Janey, you have done it!” Margaery Seymour declared, beaming at her daughter and kissing the top of her head. She wished her husband had lived to see the birth of his royal grandson.  

 

Jane smiled happily as she held the small bundle in her arms. Edward was a quiet baby and Jane had feared he was born dead when she had not heard a peep from him but the midwife had assured her that aside from being remarkably quiet, he was in perfect health.

 

He was the image of the King and unlike his brother, there was no doubt that he was a legitimate son.

 

The new mother frowned for a moment when she realized that her son would be the Duke of York instead of the Prince of Wales like he should be.

 

Had it not been for Anne Boleyn, Queen Katherine would have died peacefully and when Henry meet Jane, he would have been a widower with no illegitimate bastards he had been deceived into thinking were his.

 

Her son would have been born the Prince of Wales and she would be hailed as England’s savior with even the Princess Mary accepting her son as heir, willingly shedding her title of Princess of Wales for her younger brother.

 

“Where is he?” Henry demanded as he bounded into the room with all the energy and excitement of a man half his age. “Where is my boy?”

 

“He is here, my love, our perfect boy,” Jane told him, extending her arms so Henry could inspect the newborn prince.

 

The baby fussed as he was plucked from his mother’s arms but he settled down when Henry kissed his soft forehead, before wiggling his finger in front of the baby, smiling when he felt a small hard grasp his finger.

 

“His grip is strong and already he is a handsome lad,” Henry declared, grinning happily. “Now we must think of a name for our little Duke of York.” 

 

“What about Henry?” Jane suggested, remembering how Queen Katherine of Aragon’s short-lived son had been named Henry. It would be nice to follow in that great woman’s footsteps.  “It has been a long time since there was a Duke Henry of York and he looks just like you.”

 

For a moment Henry wondered if she realized the implications of what she had just said but he decided that she couldn’t possibly be suggesting that their son would become King instead of his older brother.  


“No, I shall not tempt fate by naming him Henry. I think he shall be named Edward after my grandfather and your brother of course. Would that please you, sweetheart?” Henry asked.

 

“I think Edward is wonderful name,” Jane agreed, not upset in the slightest.

 

Edward was a good name. The name of five English kings and perhaps one day, he would be the sixth King Edward of England.

 

As God had willed her to be the Queen of England, surely it was in his plan to do the same for her son. And though Edward, the destruction Anne Boleyn had caused would be undone. 

 

Her Edward had a greater destiny than his half-brother, Jane just knew it.

* * *

 

Hours later, there was a great big celebration in the Great Hall. The courtiers drank and danced to the birth of the Duke of York. Although he knew the reason, George couldn’t help but frown at how much livelier the festivities were than they had been two years ago when the new Prince Edward’s older brother was born.

 

“The way, Thomas Seymour is acting, you’d think his dratted sister had given birth to a Prince of Wales,” George grumbled, his lip curling in disgust as watched Thomas Seymour guzzling the wine and calling out toasts to his younger sister and his nephew every time he refilled his goblet.

 

“George, if you are going to sulk go to your chambers. The last thing I want is for the King to notice,” Thomas hissed. King Henry was overjoyed to have a second son after decades with no son at all and he would take it as a personal insult if he saw that someone was disgruntled by the birth of the Duke of York.

 

“There is no sign of the Viscount Beauchamp,” George remarked, not even acknowledging his father’s words, still glaring at the pompous Seymour brother. “I have no doubt that he is somewhere, already plotting to get his nephew on the throne.”  
  
  
“Then stop sulking and get ready to counter what move he makes,” Thomas snapped, finally gaining his son’s attention. “I don’t have much time left, I can feel it in my bones. Two or three years at most. Soon you will be the head of the Boleyns. Soon it will be up to you to protect not only your children and Mary’s children but Anne’s children as well. It’s time to start taking things seriously, George, and get ready to defend Ambrose from his enemies.”

 

George swallowed, unnerved by the forcefulness of his father’s tone. He glanced over King Henry who was competing with Henry Howard, shooting at makeshift targets with pistols.

 

If both his father and King Henry died before Ambrose reached maturity, it would be up to George to protect the boy king.  Edward Seymour would no doubt use any mistake he made to push his own nephew as a better candidate for king.

 

_I swear to you, Anne, the son of that Seymour girl will not be able to replace your son. I will make sure of it._

* * *

 

Mary held both of her siblings hand tightly as they walked down the corridors with Lady Bryan and Lady Seville following close behind.

 

They nearly ran into Edward Seymour on their way into the Queen’s apartments. He frowned upon seeing them or more importantly frowned upon seeing Ambrose.

 

“Your Highnesses, I did not expect to see you here,” he greeted them politely, keeping his tone measured as he bowed.

 

“We’re here to see our brother,” Elizabeth explained, cocking her head curiously as if she could sense that Edward was not happy to see them but she wasn’t sure why.

 

“I was told the Queen was well enough to have visitors,” Mary explained, beginning to realize that her stepmother must have assumed that she was coming alone. But surely Jane would not turn away her other stepchildren.

 

They were ushered into the Queen’s bedchambers by Margery Seymour where they found Jane lying on her bed, looking over at a crib that was stationed a few feet away. No doubt that was where little Prince Edward was sleeping.

 

“Where is Ned. I wanna see him!” Ambrose demanded, looking quite cross that his baby brother wasn’t immediately in his line of sight.

 

Elizabeth looked as though she wanted to smack her little brother for causing a commotion especially when Ambrose’s shrill voice caused Edward to start crying, startled awake.

 

“Look what you did, you upset him!” she admonished him.

 

At once Ambrose’s expression turned to shame as it often did when his older sister scolded him.

 

“I just wanted to see him,” he tried to defend himself.

Jane got out of the bed, shooing away her ladies as she picked up her son and comforted him. She glanced at Ambrose and for a second, Mary was afraid she would demand that he leave.

 

Thankfully the queen went over to her three step-children and kneeled down so they could see Edward for themselves.

 

“Edward, my darling, these are your big sisters Mary and Elizabeth and this is your big brother Ambrose,” she introduced, purposely omitting their titles.

 

Ambrose’ brow furrowed as he studied his younger brother, chewing his lip as though he was mulling something over.

 

“I like him,” he declared finally as though it was a big announcement.

 

“Well I’m sure, he is very glad to know that,” Mary murmured, ruffling Ambrose’s hair affectionately.

 

“Can I hold him?” Elizabeth asked eagerly. “I’ve been practicing with my doll so I know I won’t drop him.”  
  
  
The Queen looked uncertain but after a few seconds of hesitation she nodded, telling Elizabeth to support her head as she held Edward.

 

“He is a handsome babe,” Mary remarked.

 

“Just like his father,” Jane agreed, her eyes glowing with affection and love towards her son.

 

However, it did not escape Mary’s notice that her stepmother’s eyes darted towards Ambrose when she said that or that she seemed weary of Ambrose touching Edward. Not to mention, it seemed like she was ready to tear Edward out of Elizabeth’s arms at any moment.

 

She couldn’t help but wonder if Anne Boleyn was weary of her being around Elizabeth. The thought that Anne might have feared she would harm her half-sister was infuriating enough but it bothered her that Jane might have the same reservations towards the two toddlers who saw Edward as a playmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback if you would.


	6. Seeds of Discontent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The abrupt death of Thomas Boleyn affects both George and Henry. Edward Seymour wishes his brother and sister could keep their mouths shut especially Thomas. While three of the Tudor children are in the middle of the Seymour-Boleyn war, they are for now blissfully unaware of the tensions.

**_March 12 1540_ **

****

George Boleyn watched his son dueling with his older cousin with a feeling of pride mixed with just a sliver of sorrow. Anne would have loved watching this. She would have enjoyed seeing her beloved siblings’ sons playing together, knowing that soon they would be companions to the Prince of Wales: her son.

 

His sister should be watching her children grow up. Her daughter was only six and yet regarded as far wiser than children her age usually were. Her son was shaping up to be a bright and strong boy.

 

Anne would have been just as proud of her children as George was of his. It just wasn’t fair that she was dead.

 

“Papa, what’s wrong?” Anne asked him, grabbing his hand with her little chubby fingers, tugging him slightly, shaking him from his gloomy thoughts.  
  
  
As George picked her up, holding her close, he wondered how he could explain to her why he was so upset. His children were almost four-years-old, too young to understand the concept of death.

 

“Your Grandpa went to be with your grandmother and Aunt Anne,” George told her, remembering Mary saying something similar to Cathy and Hal when their father died of the Sweat. “And I’m just missing them a lot.”

 

“Don’t be sad, Papa, James and I are still here,” Anne assured him, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder.

 

“And I am very grateful for that,” George murmured, nuzzling her hair. He closed his eyes in order to keep the tears inside but he could feel them leaking out and staining his cheeks.

* * *

  ** _April 9 1540_ **

****

The Duke of Kent’s death had come as a bit of a shock as he had seemed healthy as can be when he was at court during Christmastide. Some courtiers even whispered that perhaps one of his many enemies had managed to poison him.

 

King Henry was aware from George’s letter that there had been no sign of foul play in the physician’s expert opinion. Thomas Boleyn had simply gone to sleep and never woken up.

 

That was a terrifying thought and it chilled Henry to the bone. While Thomas Boleyn was by no means a young man, he still didn’t seem old enough to die so suddenly and yet he had. It made Henry wonder if one night, he would close his eyes and then with no warning at all, leave his earthly body behind.

 

However, the last thing the red-haired monarch wanted to do was dwell on such things especially not today of all days. Today was a day of celebration. No matter what loses his family suffered, King Henry refused to allow his son’s birthday be marred by those painful tragedies.

 

The Prince of Wales was turning five-years-old and he deserved a celebration worthy of his status. A joust, a tennis match and a feast had all been planned for the boy England had been waiting for since the birth and subsequent death of little Prince Hal almost thirty years ago. In five years, Ambrose would be going to Ludlow and five years after that, he would be getting married to Infanta Joanna of Austria. Henry just prayed he would live long enough to see both of those milestones.

 

Henry could not deny that he was not a young man anymore. He had an ulcer in his leg that throbbed when he stood or rode for too long. He was becoming sick far more often. He could no longer partake in the sports he had once enjoyed. It terrified him knowing that one day he could wind up like Thomas Boleyn, simply passing away, leaving the burden of kingship on the shoulders of his young son.

 

King Henry shook his head, clearing his mind of those brooding thoughts. Today was about Ambrose and no one else.  With the thought of his beloved heir in mind, he walked towards the nursery, his grooms following close behind.

 

“Matthew, go to the stables and make sure Prince Ambrose’s surprise is ready for him,” Henry commanded one of his grooms as he nodded at the men and women in the corridors who bowed and curtsied as he went by.

 

He arrived at the nursery and smiled as he heard the excited chatter of his children. Not wanting to disturb them if they were playing a game, he shook his head at the herald, silently ordering him not to announce his presence.

 

Lady Nan Seville had passed away two years ago and Elizabeth’s new governess Mistress Katherine Champernowne was teaching them how to play checkers.

 

When Lady Bryan spotted Henry, he quickly had to put a finger on his lips before she could bring his arrival to his children’s attention, he beckoned her over so he could question her on how they were faring.

 

“Princess Elizabeth is a bright girl and she is doing quite well with her lessons. Master Grindal has noted that she is the only child he has ever known who seems to view studying as an enjoyable pastime,” Lady Bryan explained, smiling fondly at her former charge. While she had only taken care of Elizabeth until Ambrose was born, she still adored the little girl.   

 

“She is her mother’s daughter,” Henry murmured, beaming proudly at his daughter.

 

“The Prince of Wales is a credit to Your Majesty and he has expressed hope to start his studies early. Although I do think this might just be a ploy to stick to his sister’s side, I have no doubt that he would be a quick learner for he is just as intelligent as the Princess,” Lady Bryan continued. 

 

“Hmm, well I think I can arrange that,” Henry said thoughtfully. After all, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to give Ambrose a head start with his schooling especially when it would only be a year early.  “And what of the Duke of York? How is he?” He was not concerned by the absence of his younger son. Edward was not yet three and Henry had no doubt he was simply taking an afternoon nap. 

 

“Aside from Prince Ambrose, I have yet to meet a sweeter lad,” Lady Bryan remarked. “He is quiet and polite. Although he does not enjoy many of the same activities as his siblings, he is no less bright as them.”

 

“When will Prince Edward wake up from his nap?” Henry inquired. “His papa is eager to see him.”  
  
  
“Your Majesty, forgive me, but the Queen sent a messenger asking that the Duke of York be brought to her room as soon as he was awake. He is there now,” the old governess explained, averting her eyes, knowing that this would not please the king.

 

Henry’s brows furrowed and he frowned disapprovingly. However it was not Lady Bryan he was annoyed at.

 

The royal children had only just arrived at court today. And while work had stopped Henry from going to see them straight away, there was nothing that would stop Jane from seeing her son and stepchildren and even if there was, she still should have sent for all three of them instead of just Edward.

 

This was not the first time, Henry had noted that his wife seemed to show more affection towards Mary and Edward than she did with Elizabeth and Ambrose when she thought she could get away with it. And while it might be understandable that she would want to show Edward so much love and attention as he was her only child, it still was only right and proper that she should be just as motherly to her youngest stepchildren as she was with Mary.

 

He would have to have a talk with her tomorrow. Remind her that although Edward was their darling boy, she was still the stepmother of two other children who she should not leave out. 

* * *

 Meanwhile in the Queen’s apartments, Jane was fussing over her son, making sure he looked every inch of a prince that he was.

 

“Oh, my sweet boy, you are a handsome child,” Jane gushed, brushing his blondish-red hair.  “You are the image of your father.”

 

“Unlike Prince Ambrose,” Baroness Elizabeth Cromwell nee Seymour commented under her breath.  “He is more Boleyn than Tudor.”

 

Edward’s brow furrowed in confusion at his aunt’s statement, unsure what that meant and why his mother looked uncomfortable. However he decided he would ask Elizabeth about it as she always seemed to understand or at least figure out what the weird things the grown-ups would say meant. 

 

“Now Edward, this is going to be your first time at a joust so I want you to be on your best behavior,” Jane told her son. “Papa will want to see what a big boy you are.”

 

“Yes Mama,” Edward replied dutifully.  

 

“Good because you are our special boy and I know you will make him proud of you,” Jane continued, beaming at him.

 

“Not as proud as Ambrose makes him,” Edward said sadly, remembering how he had heard Lady Bryan gushing about how smart Ambrose was and how happy the King would be when he learned that Ambrose had asked to start his lessons early.  

 

It wasn’t that his father didn’t love both his sons but Edward couldn’t help but notice that Ambrose seemed to be his father’s favorite, the one always praised and hailed as a golden child.

 

Ambrose was the heir and Edward was only the spare.  

 

“Don’t talk like that, sweetheart,” Jane murmured as she embraced him. “You are the Duke of York just like your father was before you. I have no doubt in my mind you will be just as great as him.”

  
Had Edward known that his father had an older brother, he might have guessed what she was trying to say to him.

 

Although Queen Jane would never want any harm to come to her stepson, she had no doubt that Edward was better suited for the throne than Anne Boleyn’s bastard. Her son was just like his father in every way and no one could say for certain if Ambrose was really Henry’s son even if he had been legitimate.

 

As Prince Ambrose grew, he looked more and more like his Boleyn relatives, casting doubt on his paternity. Jane just wished Henry would open his eyes and realize that there was a possibility that Ambrose wasn’t his and then he could make Edward the Prince of Wales as he should be. And when Edward was king, he would restore the true faith to England, and wipe away all the chaos Anne Boleyn’s witchcraft had caused.

  
  
But the Duke of York knew nothing about his mother’s thoughts, all he wanted was for his father to look at him with the same pride he looked at Ambrose and Elizabeth. He was just glad that his mother believed in him so much and it was rather nice that she seemed to think he was just as important if not more than Ambrose.

 

“His Majesty, King Henry, Prince Ambrose of Wales and Princess Royal Elizabeth,” the herald announced, causing all of Jane’s ladies to put their needlework away and getting off their chairs so they could curtsy as the King and his two children strode in.

 

“Papa!” Edward shouted gleefully, running up to his father.  
  
  
Henry picked his son up and swung him around. “My little Ned, are you happy to be back at court?” he asked. He waited for Edward to nod his head before he continued speaking: “I wanted to show your brother his birthday present and he insisted on bringing you with us.”

 

“That was very sweet of him,” Jane complimented, giving Ambrose a smile. She could tell by the look in Henry’s eyes that he was not pleased that she had sent for Edward and not his siblings. 

  
“I thought so as well,” Henry agreed, keeping his expression pleasant. “Would you like to come as well, my queen?”

 

Although he coached it as a request, Jane knew it was an order for to accompany them.  

 

“Of course, I would,” Jane replied sweetly.

 

Henry placed Edward down so he could be carried by his aunt. Jane placed her hand on his arm and they waited for the herald to call for them to make way before they walked to the stables where Ambrose’s present was waiting.

 

As Ambrose was still too young for a horse, Henry had picked a pony as he had for Elizabeth’s last birthday. As he often did when his sister got something, the Prince of Wales had dropped hints that he wanted a pony as well, professing that he would spend all day and night learning to be the best rider of all time.

 

Although Henry wasn’t certain his young son would be the best equestrian of all time, he hoped that Ambrose would prove to every bit an avid sportsman as his father before him.

* * *

With his window overlooking the stables, Edward Seymour was able to watch as the King's groom brought out the Prince of Wales' birthday present. The Earl of Hertford studied the royal family with critical eyes. It could not be denied that Prince Ambrose was a robust boy who was reacting with all the delight of a child as his father lifted him onto the saddle of a dusty brown pony.

 

King Henry was devoted to his children by Anne Boleyn. Although he loved Edward and his relationship with the Lady Mary was considerably warmer than it had been in decades, neither could hope to hold onto his attention and affection like Ambrose and Elizabeth did.

 

It seemed that the only way Jane could hope to loosen the hold Anne Boleyn had on the red-haired monarch even from beyond the grave was if she had a second son something neither Queen Anne nor Queen Katherine of Aragon had done.

 

Alas, since Edward’s birth, Jane had yet to fall pregnant again. The doctor and midwife had assured them that she could convince despite the difficulties she had gone through during her labor. However, it had been almost three years and Jane had shown no sign of becoming with child again. And with every year that passed, her fertility continued to lessen.

 

A second son would mean great things for the Seymours even if they never had a relative wear the King’s crown, they would still be members of royalty.  Wealth and power would be granted to them.

 

Besides with Thomas Boleyn gone, only his buffoon of a son and the sensible Duke of Norfolk remained to protect Prince Ambrose’s interests. When the King of England died, Edward was certain that through his nephews, he could obtain much favor from the boy king, ousting the Boleyns from the places at court and placing himself in the Duke of Kent’s stead, even gaining a Dukedom for his descendants.

 

But first Jane needed to give birth to a second son so the Seymours didn’t have to continue playing second fiddle to the Boleyns and their relatives.

* * *

It was a rather lovely day for a joust in Mary’s opinion. She sat in the stands next to Susan and Lady Catherine Parr who had replaced the retired Lady Shelton as Mary’s chief lady.

 

 “Are you looking for someone, my lady?” Susan asked with a knowing smirk.

 

As if on cue, the dashing Duke Philip rode up to the three ladies, lifting his visor so he could lock eyes with Mary.

 

When Mary first learned that her father was looking for a bridegroom for her, she had been ecstatic. Her happiness lessened slightly when she discovered he was searching among the heretical princes of Germany. But then Duke Philip of Bavaria showed up, acting as an envoy for his cousin the Duke of Cleves and well she found herself drawn to the charming man.

 

Then Duke William of Cleves choose to seek a match with the young Jeanne d'Albret, the daughter and heiress of the King of Navarre.  Instead of returning to Germany when the his cousin was no longer seeking Mary's hand, Philip remained in England and asked King Henry for permission to court Mary, something the former princess was quite pleased with.

 

Despite their differences in religion, Mary and Philip had fallen in love and Mary hoped desperately for the day when her father would give permission for them to be wed.

 

“My lady, if I could have your favor,” Philip requested, grinning wolfishly at her. Mary wrapped her token around his lance. He placed his hand on hers before she could take it off his lance, lifting it off her handkerchief and kissing the back of her hand. “I shall win the day for you, my lady.”  

 

“I am sure you will, my lord,” Mary agreed, blushing madly as she slipped her hand out of his grasp. She could not tear her eyes off of him as he rode away.

 

“You are the very image of a maiden in love,” Susan remarked, giggling as Mary reddened even more.

 

"And Duke Philip is certainly her knight in shining armor," Catherine Parr agreed.

  
"Hush both of you," Mary admonished, her stern tone was undermined by the sweet smile on her face as she glanced in Philip's direction.

* * *

The day seemed to fly by. Soon it was dark outside but while the children, including the guest of honor, had retired for the night, the court continued to celebrate Prince Ambrose.

 

However despite it being a happy day, King Henry felt he needed to pay tribute to his wife, unwilling to let her tragic death go unremembered even if she would want everyone to focus on Ambrose instead of her.

 

“To Queen Anne, the beloved mother of my heir!” Henry declared, toasting her memory.

 

George smiled as he raised his glass, pleased that despite everything his sister was not forgotten. The king might have a new queen but it was clear that even with a son of her own, she could not replace Anne in her husband’s heart.

 

“And to Prince Ambrose and Princess Elizabeth, their mother’s children!” George shouted out impulsively.  He couldn’t help but smirk at the sour looks at the Seymour’s faces.

 

While their sister may be a queen and their nephew a prince, the fact still remained that Anne had done it first and it would be his nephew who was the next King of England no matter how much they wished it was different.

 

“Hear, hear.”

 

“Nephew, might I have a word with you?” the Duke of Norfolk asked once the tables had been cleared so the courtiers could dance. He did not acknowledge Mary who had only come to court for her nephew’s birthday. Despite the fact that the King had ennobled her husband and she was in now in great favor, he still treated her coldly, believing she had shamed her family.

 

“I think I shall go find William and see if he wants to dance,” Mary announced, spotting her husband chatting with Richard Rich and John Dudley. She bent her knees respectfully before leaving her uncle and brother alone.

 

“What is it, Uncle?” George asked tiredly. After his father’s death, he had to deal with endless amount of work that came with being the new head of the Boleyns. Luckily he was no longer the Deputy of Ireland not that his new post was any easier. And to make matters worse, his uncle kept insisting on trying to butt in and give him unsolicited advice.

 

“There is a new opening in the Queen’s household and I think that it’s high time there was another Howard girl at court,” Thomas Howard explained. “After all we must make sure that His Majesty will be surrounded by members of our family to properly counteract the Seymour invasion.”  
  
  
“Thank goodness you have so many nieces, Uncle, otherwise you might run out of girls to throw at the King,” George drawled sarcastically, struggling not roll his eyes.

 

“Just because you are a Duke now, does not mean you get to speak to me so disrespectfully,” Norfolk growled, glaring at his nephew.

 

“What does making a Howard girl one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting have to do with me?” George inquired, not even acknowledging his uncle’s words. The time when he would act subservient to his uncle and father were long gone just as any respect he had for them died when Anne died five years ago.

 

“Just have your wife keep an eye on her. Let’s just say I am worried that this particular niece does not have a strong sense of decorum,” the Duke of Norfolk explained, deciding not to press George for an apology. With his father gone, the new Duke of Kent was the only other noble he could say without a doubt felt as strongly about the Seymours as he did. That family was going to start causing trouble eventually and the Boleyns and the Howards needed to stay united behind Ambrose.

 

“Then why would you want her to be at court in the first place?” George asked confused.

 

“Like I said before, we need more Howards around the King,” Norfolk remarked with a small smirk as he glanced over at the red-haired monarch. “Especially pretty girls who can catch his eyes.”

 

If it weren't for the timely arrival of his wife, George might have punched his uncle.

* * *

Edward grimaced as he watched his brother stumble about the corridors. Thomas Seymour was drunk and unfortunately the alcohol had loosened his tongue and robbed him of the little tact he had.  

 

So when William Stafford, George Boleyn and Mary Boleyn walked by, Thomas called after them: “Look there goes the English Mare, sister to the French Mare!” he exclaimed crudely.

 

“Seymour, control your brother’s tongue before I cut it out myself,” George Boleyn demanded, purposely omitting Edward’s title.

 

“Don’t be mad at me, Boleyn, just because your sisters act like sluts allowing every man from England and France into their beds,” Thomas laughed.

 

“Thomas, enough!” Edward hissed, grabbing his brother’s arm, trying to pull him away. If the King heard about what Thomas was saying about his sister-in-law let alone his dead wife, all of the Seymours would be blamed.

 

“George, let’s just go,” Mary whispered as her husband---who looked equally outraged---held George back.

 

Thomas Seymour shook his brother off and took a few steps towards the Boleyns. “Everyone knows that the Boleyn whore was never a true queen like my sister, I just wonder who sired her bastard: Thomas Wyatt or you?” he jeered maliciously, grinning stupidly.

 

George’s eyes widened and he managed to tear himself from William Stafford's grasp, punching Thomas Seymour and wrestling him to the ground. Edward tried to help his brother by putting the Duke of Kent in a headlock, only to be knocked to the side by the Earl of Surrey who had decided to help his cousin.

 

It wasn’t until then did Edward realize that a crowd had formed in the corridors watching the spectacle in front of them.

 _Well this isn’t good_ , he thought just as the crowd parted to make way for the King and Queen. _And now it’s worse._

“What the devil is going on here?” Henry demanded after his guards had separated the two men. Jane ran to her brother’s side, taking out her handkerchief and using it clean his nose which was either broken or bruised.

 

“The Duke of Kent attacked me!” Thomas Seymour exclaimed, his words slurring slightly. “Didn’t he, Edward?” He looked over at his brother, clearly expecting him to jump at the opportunity to paint George Boleyn being in the wrong. Edward would have gladly done so if it weren’t for the fact that there had been witnesses---unrelated to the Boleyns---who would tell the King exactly why the Duke of Kent had attacked the youngest Seymour brother.

 

“The Duke of Kent did indeed throw the first punch,” Edward agreed, not saying anything else. He would not implicate his brother but he wasn’t going to lie for that fool either.

 

“He called Mary and Anne whores. He said Anne was no queen. He then asked me if either I or Sir Thomas Wyatt were Ambrose’s father,” George snarled, using his sister’s handkerchief to wipe the blood off his hands. He was far too angry to feel smug despite knowing how much trouble the knight was in.

 

“Is that true?” Henry demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously as he turned to Thomas Seymour.

 

“I’m sure he didn’t say any of that,” Jane soothed, wanting to defend her brother and prevent the Boleyns from causing any trouble. It would be just like a Boleyn to make up a story to paint themselves as a victim.  

 

Edward fought the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to his sister to make things worse.

 

“Are you calling the Duke of Kent a liar, Madam?” Henry asked coldly, glaring at his wife for standing up for her knave of a brother.

 

While it was possible that the death of his father had left George emotionally unstable, taking everything the wrong way, Henry knew that Anne’s brother was not a violent man nor would he ever lie about something like this.

 

“No, I just meant…” Jane trailed off, sensing that nothing she could say would make up for her slip up. It was clear that Henry believed George Boleyn despite the fact that he had attacked her brother so viciously.

 

“Well, Sir Thomas? Did you say such foul things about my son, his mother and his aunt?” Henry interrogated him, his fists clenched, making it clear he was struggling not to attack Thomas Seymour himself.

 

If his brother had a lick of sense in that brain of his, Thomas would have admitted what he had done, thrown himself at the King’s feet and begged for forgiveness. But his brother was always a man of much wit and very little judgment.

 

“No, Your Majesty, I have no idea what His Grace is talking about. I was only on my way back to my chambers when he attacked me out of nowhere,” Thomas lied, either too drunk or too stupid to realize that there were at least four witnesses---not including the Viscount and Countess of Bidon---who could confirm the Duke of Kent’s testimony.

 

It was plain from the furious expression of the King, that he had no need to ask anyone else. He knew that Thomas Seymour was lying and Edward could only hope the punishment wasn’t his brother being thrown in the Tower of London.

 

“So not only did you insult my son, his mother and his aunt. Now you have the gall to lie to my face about it,” Henry growled. “This is not fitting behavior for a knight let alone a courtier of my court. If my poor innocent Anne was still alive, I would have you on your knees to apologize to her. But since she is not, you can instead beg the Duke of Kent and the Countess of Bidon for their pardon.”  
  
  
The Seymour siblings looked aghast at the King’s demand and the Queen even tried to protest.

“Henry, please, Thomas was drinking, he didn’t mean---” she started to say only for her husband raise his hand to silence her.

 

Luckily Thomas seemed to realize that there was nothing he could say to get out of this humiliation. He got down on his knees at the feet of the Boleyn siblings, a sour look on his face.

 

“Please forgive me for my insults towards Your Grace and Your Ladyship,” Thomas grounded out through clenched teeth.

 

“And who else?” Henry prompted. When there was no answer, he clarified: “You also must beg their pardon for your insults against Queen Anne, Prince Ambrose and Princess Elizabeth.”

 

Although, he was fairly certain, that Thomas Seymour had been referring to Ambrose and not Elizabeth when he made that foul accusation that Anne had conceived him with either Thomas Wyatt or worse her own brother, Henry felt an insult to her brother and mother counted as an insult to her.

 

“I also beg your pardon on behalf of Her Majesty Queen Anne, His Highness Prince Ambrose of Wales and Her Highness the Princess Royal Elizabeth,” Thomas recited, sounding thoroughly humiliated.

 

“We accept your apology,” Mary said quickly before George could speak. And considering the sneer on the Duke of Kent’s face, it was clear he would not be as forgiving as his sister. But he decided to bite his tongue for once, even though he had to know that the King would never force him to accept a clearly less disingenuous apology, made only to avoid getting in more trouble.

 

“Hertford, I want you to make sure that your worthless brother is gone from court by tomorrow afternoon,” Henry barked at Edward before turning to Jane. “Madam, I have changed my mind. I will be sleeping in my own chambers tonight. I will speak to you tomorrow about your brother and your behavior towards my children.” 

 

Without letting either Seymour speak---not that Edward was even planning on doing so---Henry instead asked George, Mary and William to walk with him.

Edward grimaced as he watched them walk away, guessing that the Duke of Kent would be giving the King a more detailed account of what Thomas had said.

 

Feeling angry and embarrassed, Edward roughly pulled Thomas off the floor.

 

“I’m going to take Jane back to her chambers. I suggest you go back yours and try to sober up before you start to pack,” he hissed.  

 

He didn’t give Thomas a chance to argue as he led Jane away from the courtiers who were already gossiping about what had just occurred.

 

Why had God given him such fools for siblings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward Seymour is my favorite Seymour. Even when he's not the on the side of my heroes, he still is the one with sense.  
> For my Mary/Philip fans, don't worry they will have more scenes in the coming chapters. That was only a taste.


	7. Happy Wife, Happy Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Henry and Jane's relationship continues to sour, Mary and Philip's romance continues to bloom. Meanwhile the fight between George and Thomas weighs on both the Duke of Norfolk and Cromwell's minds as they think of the future. Elizabeth and Mary make a decision that they must protect their brothers from their scheming relatives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new month, a new chapter. Spent the entire day working on it. Just goes to show you when inspiration hits sometimes you can be a writing machine.

**_April 10 1540_ **

****

Vicious rumors circled around court about the fight between the Boleyns and the Seymours had the night before. There were those who took the Seymours side, adamantly believing that George Boleyn had overreacted to what was probably an innocent comment about the late queen. After all it was well known just how ridiculously protective the Duke of Kent was of his dead sister. However the majority of the courtiers, even those who had not witnessed the fight, agreed that while George could be foolhardy at times, he was not a man to become violent unless someone had said something truly vile.

 

Furthermore whatever Sir Thomas Seymour had said, it was clearly bad enough that the king had banished him from court. He had to leave in the early hours of the morning like he was a thief slipping away into the night.

 

Speaking of the King, it was noised that the red-haired monarch had not been pleased with the Queen for sticking up for her brother and he had a few choice words for her when he went to see her after she had broken her fast.

 

Some courtiers pointed out that the Seymours seemed to be losing favor while the Boleyns continued to gain it. It seemed that despite Anne Boleyn’s death, she could never fully disappear from the King’s heart.

 

For men like Thomas Howard, this was a pleasing notion as it meant Anne’s relatives could never fall from grace. And to make matters even better, the silly Seymour girl was only making things worse for herself and her relatives by acting as though her weak brat was more important than Prince Ambrose. In the Duke of Norfolk’s opinion, the boy was barely more important than the Princess Elizabeth.

 

“According to George, the King asked him to spare no detail about the fight last night. He wanted to know exactly what was said so he could decide how long Sir Thomas’ banishment would last,” Henry Howard reported. “You would think the Seymours would recognize that how much His Majesty loves the late Queen Anne and they would not court his anger by ignoring the Prince of Wales and starting fights with the Boleyns, trying to ruin her reputation.” 

 

“Out of the whole lot, it is only the Earl of Hertford who has a lick of sense. However, that does not make them any less dangerous than him,” the Duke of Norfolk remarked, standing out the window, looking up at the sky as if he was checking to see if there were any storm clouds threating to bring gloom to a beautiful spring day.

 

“Pshaw, thanks to Anne, we are untouchable,” the Earl of Surrey declared, his tone dripping with pride and smugness. As if gaining such favor through his cousin and not by his own merits was something grand.

 

Norfolk rolled his eyes, wondering how he had raised such a proud fool. Besides royal favor was a fickle thing and while the Howards certainly were well liked by the King, it was truly only George and Mary who were untouchable. As Anne’s siblings, they knew her best and could reminisce about her with King Henry hanging off every word they said, making him feel nothing but tender feelings towards them.

 

They could insult all the Seymours even Queen Jane and all they’d get was perhaps a token reprimand but as long as they steered clear of insulting the Duke of York, King Henry would not banish them as he did with Thomas Seymour.

 

However, the Howards were not so lucky. They were treated with grace and curtsey but it was clear that they could not hope to reach the same status as the Boleyns. King Henry had made it clear that he wanted the Duke of Kent to be regent to Prince Ambrose if he ascended the throne before he was of legal age. He had not even considered giving that job to the older and wiser Duke of Norfolk who had been his regent years before. Despite disliking the fact that he would have to one day be ruled by his foolish nephew, that was not his greatest fear. Last night had proven that George was still ruled by his emotions allowing him to speak his mind which could prove to be disastrous if he had to rule England for a long time.

 

Obviously the Duke of Norfolk was better suited to be England’s ruler---until Ambrose was old enough of course--- but first he had to convince King Henry that he would be better for the job than his nephew and he knew only one way to do so.

 

“Hal, tomorrow you ride to Lambeth to bring your cousin to court.”

* * *

Across the palace, another father and son duo were discussing last nights events.

 

“According to my wife, the King railed at Queen Jane for not only neglecting her poor young stepchildren but also for sticking up for a knave who, and apparently these were his exact words, is lucky that he has not been thrown into the dampest cell in the Tower of London,” Gregory reported, almost exasperatedly. “The Earl of Hertford told Her Majesty exactly what their brother said about the late Queen Anne and yet that silly woman still thinks George Boleyn was in the wrong to attack him. If it had been my sister Thomas Seymour insulted like that, I wouldn’t have cared that he was my brother-in-law, I would have gutted him.”

 

“Some people feel that the young Duke of Kent is too emotional,” the Earl of Essex remarked, thinking of the man’s own uncle who according to the spy in Norfolk’s household was hoping to use his Howard niece to not only diminish George’s influence on the King but also Cromwell’s.

 

“Oh? And what of you, Father? What do you think?” Gregory inquired a delicate eyebrow rose up to his forehead, guessing that his father’s mind was thinking ahead instead of caring about the fight that had happened last night.

 

“I think that much like his sister, George Boleyn is often underestimated, seen as nothing but a hardheaded sentimental fool who can’t take anything seriously. His laxness with his previous post as Lord Deputy of Ireland and his actions last night have not helped that perception but I believe that he has the potential to turn out to be a shrewd councilman,” Cromwell remarked.

 

The King was not a young man and although no one said it aloud, it was accepted that he would mostly likely die before Ambrose reached his maturity. Cromwell had no doubt that as regent and uncle of the new King, George would focus on keeping his sister’s legacy from falling apart and unlike his pompous uncle and cousin, he would not mind working alongside with a baseborn turned Earl.

 

“And what of the Seymours? God knows the Earl of Hertford is plotting ways to oust the Boleyns so may take the Duke of Kent’s spot on the council. Not to mention, it is quite clear to everyone but His Majesty that Queen Jane believes that Prince Edward will follow his father’s footsteps in more ways than one,” Gregory said cryptically, not wanting to be overheard by the wrong person.

“Before I respond to that, let me ask you a question of your own: would you wife be willing to turn on her siblings if she found out they were plotting treason?” Cromwell inquired, keeping his expression neutral.

 

“For our children’s sake I believe she would,” Gregory replied after only a few moments of hesitation.

 

“Good. However, it wouldn’t matter much what Queen Jane wants for her son as long as the rest of England doesn’t agree,” Cromwell said firmly.

Two years ago, Thomas Percy had started a rebellion in hopes to forcibly return England to the Catholic Church, thanks to the postmortem charity work of Queen Anne, the group of rebels were quickly suppressed with their leaders executed. It was said one of the big factors of so few people joining the rebellion was the notion that Prince Ambrose was illegitimate something not many of the English subjects were willing to agree with as they loved their long-waited for Prince of Wales.

 

“Until she died, they believed Queen Anne was a witch and a whore. Who’s to say they won’t start believing the rumors that Prince Ambrose is not the King’s son,” Gregory pointed out, despite knowing his father had to have already seen the danger of that rumor.

 

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t be cautious but I will jump to conclusions until the Seymours have given me concrete reason to believe they will try to bolster Prince Edward’s position beyond the second son of the King,” Cromwell explained before giving his son a wry smile. “In politics, you either stay a step ahead or you keep your head down. I can assure you that I am proficient at both.”

 

After all, the entire court was divided between those who supported the Boleyns and those who supported the Seymours, Cromwell had strived to be neutral, even marrying his son to a Seymour woman had not stirred up any controversy.  

 

When asked whose side he was on, Cromwell would reply he was on the King’s side. If Queen Jane and Queen Anne had switched places, despite not feeling quite as found of Jane as he did Anne, Cromwell would be working just as hard to safeguard Prince Edward’s position as he was with Prince Ambrose.

* * *

Philip and Mary were walking in the gardens, their chaperones were walking a few discreet feet behind them, allowing the young couple to have a measure of privacy however small it was.

 

Although they were aware of the events that had transpired last night---there was not a person at court who wasn’t now aware of the fight between the Duke of Kent and Sir Thomas--- but unlike the rest of the occupants of the castle they did not discuss it as it had nothing to do with them.

 

Instead they talked about Philip’s cousin Anna of Cleves. Mary had not been surprised when the subject of Anna of Cleves came up as when it was thought Mary would marry the Duke of Cleves, the older woman had written to her, hoping to strike up a friendship with a girl she thought might be her sister-in-law. Philip had to translate the letters to Mary as Anna could not speak English anymore than Mary could speak German. And although there would be no marriage between Mary and the Duke of Cleves, she and Anna still exchanged letters, becoming friends anyway.

 

“Her brother has finally arranged a marriage for her. Duke Francis of Guise. She is very concerned because she knows he is Catholic and fears he will be unkind to her,” Phillip was saying, glancing at Mary meaningful. “I wrote to her and told her that just because two people are of a different religion, it doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have a happy and loving marriage.” 

 

Mary stopped in her tracks, realizing instantly what Phillip was getting out. “Phillip,” she began, trying to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to dissuade him, as she loved him enough that she wanted to be his wife. However, their religious differences, not to mention the idea of leaving her innocent siblings to have handle divided and chaotic English court on their own was dauting one.

 

“I already know what you are going to say, Mary, that I am a Lutheran, you are a Catholic. That you don’t to leave your sister and brothers behind when their relatives seek to use them. That your mother would never approve you marrying so below your status,” Philip interjected, smirking slightly at her surprise. “Have I gotten any of that wrong?”

 

“Yes, you have. My mother never crossed my mind,” Mary replied, half-teasing him.

 

After all, while Katherine of Aragon had hoped her daughter would marry a Catholic Prince, especially one of her blood, she had made it clear during those wonderful days at the More, that her greatest wish was that her daughter would be happy and safe even if she married a man Katherine would never have chosen for her.

 

“We believe in the same God and so while our approach is different, we are the same in our devotion to God. Furthermore, my brother can rule both of our duchies, allowing me to remain in England along with my wife if she will have me,” Philip continued, taking Mary’s hands in his. “I cannot give you a crown, Mary but I can give you the devotion of a loving husband if you will have me. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

 

“Yes,” Mary breathed, losing herself in Philip’s eyes as he leaned in to kiss her. The kiss only lasted a few seconds.

 

When they parted, Philip walked over to a rose bush and plucked one off it’s stem before placing it in Mary’s hair. “My Mary Rose,” he whispered, kissing her hands. “I think I better go get your father’s permission before anyone lets it out that I asked you before him.”

 

“I don’t think he will be too angry at that,” Mary laughed, certain that despite the incident last night her father would not deny Philip’s request to marry his daughter. Or at least she hoped he wouldn’t.

* * *

 

Philip escorted Mary back to her rooms, promising to call on her once her had received the answer from the king.

 

As she waited, Mary couldn’t help but feel apprehensive and it must have shown on her face as both Catherine and Susan hastened to reassure her.

 

“I am certain that His Majesty will agree to the marriage,” Susan said firmly. “He knows how much you and the Duke care for one another.”

 

“Unless he believes the political ramifications would be costly,” Mary pointed out. She could not help but bitterly think that when it came to her father, her happiness meant little if he thought her a threat to her male heirs. The only time when he had ignored his suspicions of Mary was at his dying wife’s request, otherwise he would have continued separating his daughter from his mother. "Perhaps it would be best not even to hope that he would agree."

 

“You deserve to be happy, Mary, your father knows this,” Catherine told her firmly, looking as though she wanted to embrace the younger girl but not daring to touch the King's daughter without her express permission. “After all you’ve been through, you deserve happiness. How can you doubt that?”

 

“Perhaps it is my fault. After all, if I had been a boy, none of this would have ever happened,” Mary whispered sadly, more to herself than anyone else. She then shook her head, realizing she speaking foolishly. Philip loved her and she loved him. They could be enough if her father allowed the marriage.

 

“Princess Elizabeth and Lady Champernowne have asked for an audience, my lady,” Mary’s steward announced, bowing as Mary signaled for them to be let in.

 

The minute Mary saw her sister’s face, she realized that Elizabeth was upset and whatever she wanted to talk about, it was most certainly something she would want to be private.

 

She dismissed her ladies and Elizabeth’s governess before picking the six-year-old up and setting her in her lap.

 

“What is it, sweet sister? What troubles you so?” Mary inquired, fearing for a moment that her sister had heard of her uncle’s fight with Thomas Seymour and learned what the latter had said about her mother and brother.

 

“Well Edward came to see me this morning about something he heard his aunt say that he was confused about. He said she said that Ambrose was more Boleyn than Tudor,” Elizabeth recalled, a frown on her face. “I told him that all that meant was his appearance took more after the Boleyns than the Tudors. But that’s not how she meant it, is it?”

 

“What did the Queen say to that?” Mary asked curiously, feeling a rush of anger at the baroness. While she knew the relations between the Boleyns and the Seymours were tense, she had hoped that at least the women wouldn’t use the two boys against each other.

 

“She didn’t say anything but when I questioned Edward further, he said that his mother assured him that he would be a Duke of York like his father before him. Mary, I don’t want to cause trouble but I’m not stupid. She treats Ambrose and me with kindness but it’s not like how she treats you and Edward. She thinks we’re bastards, doesn’t she?” Elizabeth inquired, her voice growing hysterical. “And she and her sister think Ambrose isn’t even Father’s son.”

 

Mary had to fight with herself to remain calm. She wanted so desperately to believe Jane’s words were innocent, that her sweet stepmother would never make such remark hinting that like his father before him, Edward would become King of England instead of his older brother.  

 

However, she knew deep down that Jane’s support of her came from believing that Anne and Henry were never married which of course would mean that Edward was Henry’s only legitimate son.

 

Whether or not, Mary agreed with her was irrelevant as the fact remained that no one should even be hinting at the whole mess in front of impressionable ears. She could only imagine what would happen if Edward started viewing Ambrose as a usurper and a rival instead of a brother and playmate.

 

For all of her father’s arguments against Mary becoming Queen, the Cousin War was perhaps the most legitimate concern if not the only one. It was ironic that his fears could happen anyway if the Seymour-Boleyn rivalry escalated to the point where Edward and Ambrose were on opposite sides.

 

“Elizabeth, my dear heart, I need you to listen to me very carefully, all right?” Mary implored her softly, waiting until Elizabeth tearfully nodded before she continued: “What happened in the past is not your fault or Ambrose’s fault. Neither of you do anything wrong. Furthermore, I am certain that Queen Jane has no ill will against you and Ambrose.”

 

“What about you?” Elizabeth asked, wrapping her arms around Mary’s neck. “Ambrose and Edward don’t listen when the servants whisper but I do. I’ve heard them talk about you and sometimes I wonder if we make you angry.”

 

“Never, Elizabeth. Put that thought out of your head immediately,” Mary ordered, kissing her sister’s red locks so she would know that she wasn’t angry. “While it’s true it took me a long time to accept that Ambrose would be the Prince of Wales, for reasons that I must insist waiting to explain to you when you are older, I never ever was angry at either of you. I love you both too much for that.” 

 

Had her father died before Edward was born, Mary might have fought for her claim to the throne of England, believing that with Ambrose being too young, that her age and her legitimacy made her better suited for the crown.

 

However she would never let any harm come to her siblings, even going as far as to name them her successors if she were to die without any heirs. Even in those dark moments at Hatfield when she cursed Anne Boleyn, wishing she had died before her father had noticed her, Mary never hated the daughter of Anne Boleyn, believing her sister was like her: a victim of circumstances beyond her control.

 

“Elizabeth, I need you to promise me…or rather make a promise with me,” Mary began. “Ambrose and Edward can never know of what we talked about. We have to protect them from people who wish to turn them against each other. Let’s make a solemn vow that we shall always do all that we can to keep them from fighting.”

 

For any other six-year-old, Mary’s grave words might have either confused or frightened them. However, while Elizabeth might not fully grasp what was going on, she was bright and mature for her age and she understood that her brothers, who were blissfully unaware of the tension going on between the adults in their family, could not have the same tension between them.

 

“I promise, Mary, I won’t let you down,” Elizabeth swore, determination in her dark eyes.

 

Mary smiled at her and decided that now was a good time for a subject change and she know what subject was sure to make her sister smile.

* * *

“You wish to marry my daughter,” Henry repeated, staring down at the man before him with narrowed eyes.

 

Phillip of Bavaria’s request for Mary’s hand shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He had given him permission to court his daughter almost five months ago. And yet now that the German Duke was kneeling before him, Henry couldn’t help but wish he could refuse, unwilling to lose his pearl.

 

“Yes Your Majesty, I know that I am unworthy of a King’s daughter but I can provide a good life for her and be a good husband to her,” Philip declared passionately but he keeping his head bowed so not to seem imprudent.

 

“I see. I have learned that you have told your brother that you are going to leave your German titles behind if I wish for you to stay in England. Am I to believe that a titleless and landless man will be a good husband to my precious daughter?” Henry questioned tonelessly, almost smirking as he saw the man blanch at his words. Clearly Philip had assumed that he would receive an English Dukedom to compensate for the dukedom he would be leaving to his brother. Of course even a man as cocky as himself would not dare to say so. A few minutes of awkward silence passed before the red-haired monarch decided to put the man out of his misery, speaking now far more jovially. “Well I suppose I could make you the Duke of Somerset, consider it a wedding present.” He waved his hand dismissably when Duke Philip shot up, thanking him profusely. “Just go tell my daughter that you two have my blessing to wed. I’m sure she is eagerly waiting for it.”

 

Philip bowed as he walked backwards towards the door, before he turned and left Henry alone with his thoughts.

 

He could tell that Philip and Mary loved each other and it made his heart ache as it reminded him of those happier days when he was younger and in love, eager to marry the woman of his affections.

 

Unlike Philip and Mary, he had to wait years before he could marry the woman he desired. Even with Katherine, he had spent several years pining for her until his father died and he was free to marry whoever he wished. He had been blind to the fact that their marriage was doomed to fail, ignoring those who tried to dissuade him from marrying his brother’s widow. He paid for his foolishness dearly and yet a part of him could not regret the happier times he shared with Katherine even now when he no longer loved her.

 

And then there was Anne: seven years, he had waited for her. Seven long years, only for their marriage to become strained and unpleasant. Perhaps it was Anne’s assurance that she would give him a son that made it so disappointing when his perfect jewel was born to the point where he had treated her shabbily and it was only now that she was dead, would he give anything to have her back.

 

As for Jane, while it had only taken several months before he married her, he couldn’t help but feel that he was following a similar pattern. At first, she had been an angel who rescued him from the darkness that he had felt after Anne’s death. He had thought she was an innocent maiden he could be Lancelot to. Now he was not so sure.

 

In the beginning everything was wonderful but then something happened that made the once love filled words turn resentful. The worst part was Henry was certain if Anne had lived, their marriage could have had a fresh start and perhaps the lack of stress would have cooled both of their tempers. However the nothing he could do to change the past and it seemed he would always be doomed to fall out of love just as hard as he fell in love.

 

Henry prayed that Mary and Philip would have a happy marriage, one he would never be blessed with.

* * *

  ** _April 15 1540_ **

****

 

Jane Boleyn wondered which Seymour was more upset. Sir Thomas who was banished indefinitely, the Earl of Hertford whose desired dukedom would be given to Duke Philip once he and Lady Mary were wed or Queen Jane who had just learnt that her husband had decided to send their son back to Hatfield without his older siblings.

 

Now the Duchess of Kent could feel a small measure of pity for the younger woman as the red-haired monarch was clearly sending Prince Edward away as a punishment to his mother who had been neglecting her stepchildren in his favor.

 

And it irked her how causally the King had broken this news over dinner as if he was simply discussing the weather instead of sending his young son away solely to punish his wife.

 

“But sweetheart, don’t you think it is unfair to send Edward away when his siblings are still at court?” Jane asked, keeping her voice as soft and meek as she could, knowing that she would not be able to change his mind if she sounded like she was scolding or arguing with him.

 

“Unfair? Why would it be unfair?” Henry asked, his brow furrowed. “Edward is just two-years-old, he cannot be expected to conduct himself at court for as long as siblings do. Besides the country air will do him a world of good.”

 

Jane Boleyn could sense that Queen would have liked to point out the ridiculousness of the former sentence (especially when Ambrose was only two and a half years older than Edward and had none of his sister’s maturity).

 

“I understand your reasons and I agree that our son’s well being is important but I fear that if we send him to Hatfield, he might think that he is being punished or that you love Ambrose more than him,” Jane said earnestly.

 

King Henry scowled, throwing his napkin down on his unfinished plate. “Is that what he thinks or are you the one who thinks that, Madam?” he demanded, his voice growing louder. “Is this why you neglect Ambrose, denying him the love of a mother because you believe that I love him more than Edward? Perhaps you are jealous that Edward is not the Prince of Wales. Do you hope that I might one day make your son my heir instead of his half-brother?”

 

“No, Your Majesty that was not what I was saying. I love both Ambrose and Elizabeth as if they were my own children,” Jane protested.

 

“Than why don’t you act like it?” Henry shouted, as he jumped from his seat, slamming his glass on the table, causing the Queen to flinch. “I have suddenly lost my appetite. I think I shall retire to my own rooms,” he snarled.

 

“Wait Henry, please. I did not mean to upset you. I shall work hard on being a better stepmother but please don’t send Edward away. He doesn’t want to be all alone at Hatfield,” Jane gushed, making one last attempt to persuade her husband to change his mind.

 

“Enough! I will not hear another word! You have no right to control my conduct with Edward,” Henry snapped.  

 

“I am his mother,” Jane protested, a little spark of fire flaring in her eyes.

 

“And I, Madam, am his father and therefore I know what’s best for my son,” Henry declared, ignoring her tear-filled eyes. “I bid you goodnight, wife.”

“Your Majesty, I beg of you---” Jane implored him but her pleas fell on deaf ears as King Henry stormed out of her dinning chambers.

* * *

 

“How dare she!” Henry hissed as he stormed through the corridors leading out of the Queen’s apartments.

 

It wasn’t like he was banishing Edward like he did to the boy’s uncle. In fact, he had thought his little Duke of York would stay a few more days before sending him off to Hatfield then his brother and sister would follow after the Mayday celebrations.

 

Jane had no right to criticize him. In fact her words, only made him more determent to send Edward to Hatfield, away from his mother who was no doubt spoiling him far too much.

 

As for the idea that he preferred Ambrose over Edward; it was pure nonsense. He loved his two sons equally and he was certain the Duke of York knew that. Even if he didn’t unintentionally favor Ambrose it still did not give Jane an excuse to neglect Ambrose and Elizabeth out of pettiness.

 

The King was so caught about in his thoughts that he didn’t see the lady-in-waiting. Rounding the corner until he had already bumped into her.

 

“Oh my, Your Majesty, please forgive me,” the lady squeaked from the floor where she had fallen.  
  
  
“Nay, my lady, it is I who should apologize for I seem to have knocked you off your feet,” Henry said, extending his hand to the poor girl. His dark mood had evaporated completely now that he had laid eyes on such a pretty lady. He helped her up, smiling kindly at her. “And what is your name, fair maiden?”

 

“Lady Catherine Howard, sire, but everyone calls me Kitty,” the girl replied, averting her eyes as her cheeks blushed pink.

 

“Another Howard? There are so many already at court,” Henry remarked, hoping to put the girl at ease.

 

“My cousin said there is always room for a Howard,” Kitty jested, her eyes lighting up when the King laughed jovily, pleased that she had made the monarch laugh. “My step-grandmother thinks I would be too silly for court but I think personally think everyone could use a little light in their lives.”

 

“It certainly would make things less dreary,” Henry agreed. He couldn’t help but like how playful and innocent Kitty seemed. She reminded him of the carefree days of his youth. “Tell me, my lady, how are long have you been at court? I think I would have noticed a breath of fresh air such as yourself.”

 

“Not very long, Your Majesty. I only arrived and was sworn in as a lady-in-waiting yesterday. I had just finished my last task for tonight when you swept my off my feet,” Kitty giggled.

 

“Oh is that what we shall call you bouncing off my chest and tumbling to the floor? Certainly would make it less embarrassing,” Henry guffawed good-naturedly.  “Well Mistress Howard, if you were about to retire when we meet, I shouldn’t delay you. I hope to see you tomorrow as you have been a delight to talk to.”

 

“Your Majesty, is far too kind,” Kitty told him, giggling and blushing madly when the King kissed the back of her hand before curtsying and going to the chambers where the other ladies-in-waiting slept, no doubt she would be recanting her encounter with the red-haired monarch.

 

King Henry stared after her with a smile on his face. Anne had only been a few years older than her cousin when they first met. He had longed to recapture the early days of their courtship and while Kitty was clearly more innocent and girlish than Anne had ever been, perhaps he could finally return to happier days.

 

With the days of his carefree youth flickering in his mind, Henry walked towards the Duke of Suffolk’s apartments, hoping to convince Charles to partake in a wrestling match or something like that.

* * *

 

 When he arrived, he was amused to find that the Suffolks seemed to be entertaining a small group of people.

 

“Charles, how dare you throw a party and not invite me,” Henry mock-scolded his friend as the man came over to greet him with a bow.

 

“Forgive me, I thought you were with Queen Jane and wouldn’t want to be disturbed,” Suffolk explained, rather sheepishly.

 

Henry scowled darkly as he remembered the argument he had with Jane just before he had bumped into Kitty.

 

Sensing his friend’s dark mood, Charles quickly led Henry over to where his wife was talking to the Parr siblings who stopped their conversation to greet the king. He couldn’t help but notice that William Parr and Catherine Brandon looked rather shamefaced as if they were school boys discussing something naughty when their schoolmaster happened upon them.

 

“Please, don’t let me interrupt. What is it you were discussing?” Henry asked, wondering what the topic was that was making them uneasy.

 

“Oh for Pete’s sake, it’s not like we were discussing treason,” Anne Parr snapped when no one answered, causing her brother to shoot an angry look.

 

“What my sister means to say, Your Majesty, is the topic is a rather controversial one and we were concerned that you may not approve of us discussing it,” Catherine Parr explained smoothly, smiling winningly at the king.

 

“Say on, my lady, I shall decide whether or not your words are too controversial,” Henry told her kindly. He remembered seeing her a few times with Mary and was aware that she was a widower but he hadn’t ever spoken to her and yet he felt somewhat at ease with her as if the tone of her voice soothed his troubled mind.

 

“I am working on translating the works of Erasmus,” Catherine explained.

 

“My sister is a very diligent woman,” Anne Parr complimented her sister, pride shining in her voice. “She thinks every Englishman should be able to read the works by not only Erasmus but also Thomas Berthelet.”

 

“Well, I regard it as much my duty as my pleasure, to place such wonderful books before the good English people who have been a long time thirsting and hungering for the sincere and plain knowledge of God's word,” Catherine declared passionately.  

 

Henry could not help but be reminded of Anne who also believed that the English people deserved the English bible so not to be deceived by the clergy who use the knowledge of Latin to trick the common folk into fattening the church’s coffers.

 

However he of all people knew that some people tried to insist that God’s words went directly against what he did with the monasteries he closed down and even went as far to try to dictate who his heir should be.

 

“Just be cautious. Not every English person can read or understand the Gospels and you should be careful of the consequences of encouraging them to try,” Henry warned her gently.

 

“Majesty, I am not afraid of the Gospels, nor should anyone be afraid. Your Majesty has begun a great work in banishing the monstrous idol of Rome and now with God's help, you can finish that work by purging the Church of England of its dregs,” Catherine continued, speaking perhaps a bit too boldly.

 

Although a part of Henry felt affronted that she seemed to be lecturing him, he couldn’t help but enjoy how she spoke to him with candor. It reminded him of the early days where he and Anne would have spirited debates with each other about religion and politics.

 

Jane had little offer on such subjects other than her tender heart requesting her spare those who committed treason against him.

 

Soon his argument with Jane was long forgotten as he discussed serval interesting topics with Lady Catherine who was proving to be as intelligent as she was beautiful.

* * *

 

**_April 18 1540_ **

****

“Ned, stop moping, you’re not going for another two days,” Ambrose ordered his brother with a sigh.

 

“I don’t want to go,” Edward complained, tears in his eyes. “Why is Papa sending me away?”

 

“Maybe he doesn’t want you because you’re acting like a big baby!” Ambrose snapped, annoyed at his whining. Immediately he regretted his harsh words as now Edward was crying. Elizabeth glared at him as she rushed over to comfort their brother. “I didn’t mean it, Neddie, honest. Papa probably just think you don’t want to spend time at stuffy court where everything is really boring.”

 

“Then why am I the only one being sent to Hatfield?” Edward asked in a small voice.

 

“Uh---I don’t know,” Ambrose replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. Then his expression cleared and he smiled again. “I know what. Why don’t we go to Papa right now and ask him to let Ed stay at court until we have to back to Hatfield. He can’t say no to all three of us.”

 

Elizabeth opened her mouth to tell her brother that yes, he could in fact say no to all three of them. He was the King of England for goodness sake, only answerable to God Himself.

 

Unfortunately before she could, Ambrose had already gone to Lady Bryan and demanded that she take the three of them to see King Henry.

 

“I’m afraid the King is too busy with his work right now, Your Highness,” Lady Bryan began. “Perhaps in an hour---"  
  
  
“I don’t want to wait an hour! I’m the Prince of Wales and I want to see Papa right now!” Ambrose shouted, not happy by the implication that his father would be too busy to see him.

 

“Ambrose, that is not how princes are supposed to act!” Elizabeth admonished her brother, thinking how hypocritical it was of him that not even ten minutes ago he had called Edward out for acting like a baby and here he was throwing a fit. She then turned to Lady Bryan, speaking sweetly. “Lady Bryan, if you could send a message to Papa, telling him that we would like to have an audience with him whenever he has a moment of free time, we would be very grateful.”

 

“Of course I will, Your Highness,” Lady Bryan replied giving her a smile before throwing Ambrose a look that screamed “why can’t you be more like your sister.”

 

“You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Amby,” Elizabeth teased, looking very smug.

 

“I’m the Prince of Wales,” Ambrose muttered, his arms folded over his chest and a black scowl on his face.

 

“Then stop acting like an immature brat,” Elizabeth countered.

 

As if he thought it would contradict his sister’s words instead of proving them correct, Ambrose stuck his tongue out at her.

 

Elizabeth shook her head in exasperation while Edward giggled, looking much happier than he had moments before.

* * *

Lady Bryan must have sent the messenger right away, perhaps assuming that the King would see it, finish his duties and then send for them. Instead in less than fifteen minutes after the page had went to the King’s chambers, he came strolling into the nursery looking quite amused.

 

“Your Highnesses, I am humbled that you have sought an audience with me,” he proclaimed, teasing them lightly as he kneeled down and took all three of them into his arms. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I told you we were more important than his stupid work!” Ambrose exclaimed to Lady Bryan.

 

“A king’s work is very important, Ambrose, as is his manners,” Henry scolded him sternly, rather taken aback by his son’s rudeness.

 

“I’m sorry, Muggie,” Ambrose said softly after Elizabeth nudged him.

 

“Good boy. Now what is it I can do for you three?” Henry asked, ruffling his son’s hair so Ambrose would know he wasn’t too upset by his outburst.

 

“Please let me stay at court, Papa! I don’t want to leave without Amby and Lisbeth. I promise I won’t act like a baby and I’ll be very good!” Edward cried, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck, staring at him with wide eyes.

 

There was an odd look on her father’s face, one Elizabeth couldn’t quite read.

 

“You are a very good boy, Edward but I think it would be best if you went Hatfield early. Court can often be too overwhelming for a boy your age,” King Henry told him gently, stroking his hair, his tone slightly strained.  “What has your mother been telling you about Ambrose and you?”

 

 

Elizabeth knew what was about to happen even before it did. Her father was talking about something else entirely but Edward was about to reveal what his mother had said to him days earlier. Something that she could gather from the alarmed look on Mary’s face would upset her father.

 

“Well when we first got at court, I was a little worried that you would never be as proud of---” Edward began, sounding a bit sheepish as if he thought that he perhaps it was his own insecurities that had caused his father to decide that he was too babyish to stay at court with his siblings and instead send him back to Hatfield early.

 

 “She didn’t mean anything by it,” Elizabeth blurted out, thinking fast. If Edward revealed what happened, Ambrose would be confused and want an explanation especially if Papa got angry. And knowing her pig-headed brother, he would not stop until he had some answers that most certainly would not like and he would probably make Edward, who would think their father was angry at him, feel even worse for speaking up.

As if sensing his daughter’s thoughts, King Henry requested Lady Bryan take Edward and Ambrose to another room as he talked to Elizabeth.

 

“Sweetheart, I need you to be completely honest with me. What did the queen tell Edward that has him so upset?” Henry asked, keeping his tone calm although Elizabeth could sense he having trouble controlling his temper.

 

“Well he wasn’t upset about anything his mother said to him, he just thinks you aren’t as proud of him as you are Ambrose,” Elizabeth explained.

 

“But there is something she said that I should know about,” Henry guessed, giving his daughter a gentle squeeze when she looked down at her hands. “Bess, I promise I won’t get mad at you or Ned, I just want to know what’s going on.”

 

“Do you promise to let Ned stay if I tell you?” Elizabeth asked hopefully.

 

“You are as shrewd as your mother was,” Henry complimented her, laughing despite the seriousness of the situation.  “Alright sweetheart, it’s a deal. Now tell me what you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth and Mary both know what's up while Edward and Ambrose remain innocently unaware...for now.  
> Henry has learned absolutely nothing and is honestly holding onto a fantasy.  
> Speaking of Henry, considering how important his last two wives are to this story, I felt I needed to at least mention Anne of Cleves who sadly will not be appearing in this story which is a pity because it would have been nice to write about the friendship between Anna and Kitty were said to have.  
> I hope everyone understands why I put Catherine Parr and Henry's conversation in the show here. Henry always seems to enjoy candor when it's not his wife.  
> Which Catherine will become his mistress? Kate? Kitty? Both? Neither? Wait and find out.  
> And uh-oh, someone's in trouble.


End file.
